


Kill for Me

by Pixeled



Series: Kill for Me [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Blood and Violence, Drug Use, Enemies to Lovers, Epic Bromance, Gangster life, Gore, How to become a Turk, I mean it when I say lots of cursing, Ignores canon lol, It's A Pilot's Life for Me, Joker references, Lots of Cursing, M/M, Mob boss Reno, Not Canon Compliant, Oops I wrote a novella, References to Monty Python, Rehabilitation, Reno Turk Origin Story, Reno and Rude bromance, Reno/Cursing, Tseng Wick, Tseng's Rehab, Turk (Compilation of FFVII)-centric, Turk Assessments, Turk life, Very graphic depiction of drug withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25901680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: “Hm,” Tseng said, that same stupid smile creeping onto his face that made Reno want to claw his eyes out. He took his butterfly knife out and began to play with it now, much slower, the handles making perfect arcs like he did this often when he was thinking, opening it in different ways. “We all make choices in our lives, do we not, Reno? For some of us, these choices begin simply as a means of survival. Perhaps that’s how it happens for all of us. Survival. But then we grow into it. We become it. We justify it to ourselves, do we not? And some of us just do it better than others. Some of us know why we do it, however. We don’t need things like justification, because we know exactly what makes us tick. Do you know what makes you tick, Reno? You can sit there and say we are the same. Two bad men in a room, just on different sides, and perhaps you’d be correct, because I do know that I am a bad man, but, Reno, I assure you that we are not the same.”
Relationships: Reno & Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Reno/Tseng (Compilation of FFVII)
Series: Kill for Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879714
Kudos: 18





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my "version" of Reno's Turk origin story which completely ignores canon! I can do what I want!
> 
> So, when I started writing this I thought, "oh, it will be about 4-5K at the maximum. Then it got longer. And longer. And I was just like "Okay, this is happening, I guess." At around the 10K mark I was like "it can't get any longer" but THEN I went out for groceries and the rest of the fic. played out like a movie for me in my head. I knew I was screwed at that point.
> 
> Also, I hope you all enjoy Tseng Wick, the many references to the Monty Python Ex-Parrot sketch, and Reno just telling each person who asks about his facial tattoos something different.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing the fight scenes in this fic. I took jiu-jitsu for 2 years.
> 
> Also, I'm a substance abuse nurse in my spare time, so keep that in mind when you get to that part in the fic. You'll go "Ohhhhh, I get it now."
> 
> Enjoy!

“This is a good amount,” Reno said, throwing his cigarette down and stomping the cherry out, picking up a gold chain from the pile of goods in the chest his crew had hauled from their recent bust. He put the chain around his neck and grinned. His gold grill piece twinkled in the low light. The chain had a dragon’s head on it. “Suits me, huh?” he laughed.

“Sir, we think someone saw us so we all split up.”

“Coulda led with that, ya dumb fuck!” Reno yelled, punching the man in the jaw, his gold and silver rings only making it more brutal. The man spat blood on the floor. “Who the fuck saw you?” Reno asked, punting the man to the ground and grinding his boot into his ribs.

“We….we think it was a Turk,” the man wheezed.

“Fuck! ShinRa bastards! How many?”

“Looked like one? But if one knows, they all know. But, I think we threw them off.”

“You think you threw professional fuckin’ ShinRa agents off your trail, you fucking moron? We prepare for war. Now! Assemble the crew!”

Reno walked over to the stash of weapons and pulled out his twin chain flails. They were completely black with a long handle, and the curling tail of a dragon went up each side. The face of the “ball” portion was the head of a dragon, the spikes its crown and beard. It matched the green dragon tattoo that peeked out from his low slung black ripped jeans which he didn’t ever button and showed off a portion of the trail of dark blond and coppery hair leading to his pelvic region, extending half way up his ribs into the growling head of the dragon. He was wearing a torn-up shirt underneath an open motorcycle jacket he’d stripped off a corpse years ago. The shirt sat just under his rib cage to show his tattoo off. He stalked over to his highchair, his throne, which sat upon a pile of garbage. The Dragon King, they called him.

The crew assembled.

“Choose your weapons,” Reno said, crossing his legs, big black platform booted foot jiggling. “They’ll be here any second.”

The crew all chose their weapons, which ranged from guns, chain saws, swords, knives, flails, staves, and many more. It was quite the collection, each stripped from the dead they had conquered. They all assembled in a semi-circle.

It wasn’t long before a single person emerged from the sewer opening. Sure enough, the tell-tale sleek black suit told them all they needed to know. He had no visible weapon, but Reno could tell he had a gun concealed in a shoulder holster. He lit another cigarette with his lighter and took a big puff, inhaling before exhaling the smoke nice and slow, amusement playing in his pale turquoise eyes.

“One man?” He laughed deliriously.

“The self-proclaimed ‘Dragon King’,” the man said, tilting his head. As he approached Reno saw that he was of Wutain descent, in his twenties, deceptively thin in his tailored suit, hair long and straight like an oil slick, the front tied back neatly into a long partitioned off ponytail so that the front was severely pulled back, and he was beautiful in a way he’d never seen before. The way he walked in with confidence without his gun cocked was curious. He was surrounded. There was no way he would survive, right? Yet he seemed to know something Reno did not. As he smiled and smoked his cigarette down to the filter and flung it away, he contemplated it. Perhaps he was about to learn what Turks were really capable of. His blood boiled with excitement, and the coke and blow he’d done right before his crew returned just made the high more intense. He always did love a challenge. His brain was literally on fire.

“This is _hilarious_. One guy. And that _one guy_ is a Wutai fuck. They let ya fuckin’ spies into ShinRa Corp.? I mean, I’m a slum chump, but _you_ , you’re _sub-human_.”

The racist slew of words seemed to bounce off the man as if they were white noise.

Reno directed the man with the chainsaw to go in first. His name was Psycho, and with good reason. The man was unhinged, had no reservations, and he was a powerhouse. He charged up the chainsaw and came at the Turk, who calmly adjusted his leather gloves one at a time, the expression on his face one of absolute neutrality, then ran at the chainsaw. Reno laughed, high and delighted, as if it was an amusement park show. He expected the Turk to be torn to shreds, but he moved faster than his eyes could keep up with, disarming Psycho, snapping his arm, pulling that arm and flinging himself up and over him to toss him across the ground. Psycho went skidding across the ground, but he still got up, his arm clearly torn out of the socket and sitting wrong, broken in several places. He grinned despite it because pain had always made him only go harder and then he ran at the Turk, but the Turk was faster, unholstering his pistol and aiming within a split second. Psycho stopped as if suspended in motion for a moment. His brains splattered the ground and he went down on his knees before he thudded to the ground.

The Turk stood, holstering his pistol, and smiled with a barely perceptible uptick as if to say, “who’s next?”

“Jig, you’re next,” Reno said. “With Saw.” He grinned. “Let’s see how you fare with two, ShinRa scum.”

The two moved forward. Jig was a fifteen-year-old girl who used a katana, and Saw was her twin brother, who used a gunblade. Both had white-blonde hair and wore high school uniforms.

Saw immediately let loose a barrage of bullets as he ran in, but the Turk simply used a grappling gun to swing up onto a rafter to avoid the bullets, jumping back down to grab the boy’s lapels and pull hard and fast against his carotid artery, cutting off his breath. But Jig was already on him, and she’d prepared her katana, swinging wide. The Turk simply grabbed the boy and tossed him over his shoulder at her as if he were a rag doll in the middle of a long downward slash of her katana, effectively making her kill her own brother. She screamed as he fell to the ground and then ran at the Turk, enraged, katana held aloft. Before she could even bring it down, he slammed his palm into her sternum, breaking it, her katana clattering to the ground, and she went crashing into the jagged wall behind her, struggling to breathe. The Turk stalked after her, pulled her up, slammed his forehead against her nose, breaking it, essentially making it impossible for her to breathe, then he threw her to the ground and crushed her ribs to make sure she asphyxiated, then he simply kicked her aside, smiling. It was a full smile now. He was slowly getting bloodier, but none of the blood was his own.

“Damn, he’s fuckin’ good,” Reno said, biting his fingernails, sniffing, twitching, tweaking. “Let’s up the ante. Sandman, Deathrow, Rifle.” All three used machine guns. Surely the Turk wouldn’t survive that, would he?

As the three advanced, guns blazing, the Turk jumped up into the air, above the gunfire, and snapped each man’s neck by hopping from one to the next. As he landed he tilted his head.

More of his crew advanced on the Turk, but he killed every single one of them, even when it was five to one. It was like the more Reno threw at him, the more deadly he became, the more unhinged, growing only faster and better. Reno may have had drugs to get off on, but it was obvious to Reno the Turk got off on the thrill of a fight.

“Time to make a deal, Dragon King,” the Turk said. He was breathing evenly, steadily, but there was a fire in his almond brown eyes. If Reno threw more men at him he would only get more lethal. Reno knew it. At this point there were streaks of blood running down the sides of the Turk’s face and his suit was covered in it. Reno, assessing the situation, didn’t have a lot of men left. He looked at them, then looked at the Turk.

“I’ll fight you myself,” Reno growled.

“Are you sure that is wise?” The man asked.

“Oh, you think I’m fuckin’ scared of you ‘cuz you killed a bunch of my crew? You ain’t seen _shit_.” Reno laughed as he climbed down off his “throne” and advanced with his twin flails. They were slotted with Lightning Materia, which was hard to come by in the slums. Turk boy was about to be in for a _real_ electrifying treat. And the Turk may have been agile and lethal, but Reno was agile and lethal himself, and _fast_. And he’d seen enough of how the Turk moved to find what loopholes he needed to utilize.

Reno ran at the Turk, which was what all his crew did, but he did it with a twist, and much _much_ faster. As soon as he got in close enough and the Turk was primed to react, he spun behind him in a blur and snapped the flail across his back, calling upon the lightning spell at the same time and sweeping him low and off his feet. The Turk went down to the floor, but he used a Curaga spell and jumped back up.

“Aw, that’s no fair,” Reno laughed. “But, I got ya, pretty boy. You’re gonna be _fucked._ ”

“Hm,” the Turk said, cracking his neck and adjusting his tie. “You _are_ good. Ready to make that deal?”

“The fuck I am! You’re goin’ down as a message to ShinRa! Adios, motherfucker! Only one of us survives, and it’s gonna be _me_ , fucking jackass fuck!”

“Very well,” the Turk said, adjusting his gloves again, and ran, jumped up into the air, and grabbed Reno by the pants to slam him down into the ground. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, both smiling. Reno’s was wild and unhinged, but the Turk’s was a simple little twitch of the lips—barely a smile, but present enough to be a call to challenge. But then Reno grabbed the Turk by the lapels and head butted him. Blood ran down the Turk’s nose and into his mouth, but he only laughed, teeth bloody.

“You fucks are insane!” Reno yelled, but he’d finally made him bleed. The Turk put his knee deep into Reno’s ribs and unholstered his pistol, pressing it into his forehead.

“Proposition time.”

“Are you gonna pull that trigger?” Reno asked, grinning widely, laughing maniacally, holding the pistol so it pushed harder into his forehead.

“Maybe,” Tseng shrugged. “Are you going to listen?”

“Fine! What the _fuck_ do you want?”

“All the goods you’ve accumulated, your crew’s deaths—all of them, not just the ones here—and as for _you_ , death-row or become a Turk.”

“Become a Turk?!” Reno repeated with a growl.

“Would you rather spend years on death-row knowing they’re going to kill you eventually after years of being treated like an animal? Average amount of years on death-row? 15-20. That is a lot of time to think about how you threw your life away. Now, I’ve seen how you move. I’ve seen what you can do. I know how you’ve risen up from nothing and made a network beneath the city. You’re smart. You’re capable. You made me break a sweat _and_ bleed, which rarely happens. If we train you? You’ll be an excellent Turk.”

“Fine, fine,” Reno relented. Tseng touched two bloody leather fingers to his earpiece.

“Target has been subdued. Over.”

On his command, a flank of Turks and ShinRa soldiers arrived and cleared out the area, killing the remaining crew, collecting all the valuables in the sewer hideout. So there _were_ a bunch of Turks there the entire time. Reno would have been fucked either way. He should have known. Where there is one Turk, there are a slew of others you couldn’t see, like spiders hiding where you never suspect them to be.

“Good. A wise decision.” The Turk holstered his pistol again. “It’s even more impressive considering you’re _very_ high.” The Turk leaned close, his hair pooling around the side of Reno’s face as he was examining Reno’s blown out pupils. “We’ll have to do something about that habit.” He wagged his gloved finger and tsked. “We cannot have that in our organization.” The Turk stood and extended his hand to Reno to help him up. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret. There are scopes trained on you. You make a move, you’re dead.” Reno took the Turk’s hand and let him pull him up.

“Director, sir, everything is accounted for from the last few days,” a ShinRa soldier said as he walked up to the Turk, saluting him.

“Good,” the Turk said, not even looking in his direction, eyes trained on Reno.

“Tseng!” one of the other Turks called. The Turk grabbed Reno and pulled his arms out, using a pair of zip-ties to tie his hands together in front of him, which he thought was odd. Why not behind him? And then The Turk pushed Reno hard, handing him off to a pair of ShinRa soldiers.

The Turk went to go see what the other Turk wanted then.

 _So that was the Director of the Turks_ , Reno thought. _Hm. Guess all the Turks do dirty work, including the boss_. And then he was hauled away.

When Reno was brought into a room a group of ShinRa soldiers with guns pointed at him yelled at him to strip and remove all his jewelry and piss into a cup. He took everything off, including the gold grill over his teeth, and pissed into the cup in front of them. It was taken away somewhere.

“Decontamination room,” a soldier said, pushing Reno into a small room that was all gray and steel with the butt of his gun. There were nozzles in every direction. They all turned on at the same time and sprayed him with a force that left him breathless, but it only lasted at the most a minute, and then the other panel of the room lifted up. He was naked, wet, and didn’t know what would happen next.

The Director of the Turks, who was apparently named Tseng, was in the room that had opened up. He had a towel ready, and what looked like a pair of scrubs. He pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, flipped it open with an ease and perfect grace to the point that Reno barely saw the way it moved—just that it flipped open with a small flick of his wrist and then he cut the zip-ties off, which had been so tight that they were cutting off his circulation. He then he flicked his wrist again so the knife was no longer visible, and concealed it again.

Tseng looked him up and down.

“Not a real redhead. Not surprising.”

“Whatever, douche.”

“All we know is your name is Reno and that you grew up in the slums,” Tseng said. “Your parents abandoned you, it is said, although we don’t know your surname, and you formed a gang when you were young. Eight, yes? Impressive. You called yourself the ‘Rat King’. You did petty theft. Nothing major, but then it progressed, as it mostly does when petty theft goes on without consequences, and you began to amass a network of agents. Grand larceny, murder, drug trafficking. You became the ‘Dragon King’ at this point”. At this he pointed to his tattoo. “Wutain artist. Very good. You had the means for an expensive tattoo. And you wreaked enough havoc to have everyone in your Sector 7 base and several other accompanying Sectors terrified. You had to know ShinRa had its eyes on you.”

“Yup. I’m royalty, bitch. And you’re the Director of the Turks. Nice to know the boss gets dirty, too. Thought Directors sat in plush seats that cradle their fucking princely asses and do paperwork all day and bark orders like fuckin’ arrogant dicks.

“Oh, I do that too,” Tseng said, handing Reno the towel. Reno glared at Tseng, toweled off his hair, and then his body, pulling on the gray scrubs. They were too big. They slipped off his shoulder and were too long. Tseng got down on one knee and started to roll them up for him, but Reno kicked him hard in the face.

“Fuck you, dot head!” Reno growled, spitting up into his face when he got up. Tseng took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped his face, which removed a stripe of blood as well.

“Racial slurs won’t do you any favors. I’m your boss now. And, besides, I believe at this point you’re starting to feel the beginnings of withdrawal? How many times a day do you get high, Reno? How much cocaine do you do, how many bags of heroin? I bet a lot, hm? We tested your urine. The cocaine, it will feel like an itch you can’t scratch. You’ll experience a feeling of _need._ Physical symptoms, such as chills, tremors, muscle aches, and nerve pain will occur. You’ll have nightmares. You won’t be able to feel pleasure. Of any kind. You’ll feel depressed. The heroin? You will be _very_ uncomfortable. Together? It might feel like agony, but then I’ve never experienced such symptoms. I am, however, well acquainted in treating the symptoms of withdrawal. I can make your withdrawal easier, or shall we say, very unpleasant? Very embarrassing? Your choice.”

“Gods damn, you’re a fucking asshole bitch fucking cunting whoreson son of bitch cock-licking faggot!” Reno spat.

“Whoreson. Hm. That one is new. I do not believe I’ve been called _that_ one before. Creative. I guess it’s going to be uncomfortable, then?” Tseng asked, tilting his head. “You _do_ know why people do drugs in the first place, don’t you? Some sort of feeling of _lack_. When you do a specific drug for the first time, it’s like the most intense euphoria you will ever experience in your entire life. You suddenly feel that lack you had has been filled. You literally feel dopamine and serotonin rushing into your brain when it hits. Five times the amount of anything you’ve ever felt, so it’s better than anything in that moment. Better than sex even, hm? But that doesn’t last, does it? You start to need more. You chase that first high you had, but it never feels the same, does it? You have to, shall we say, titrate up? And the more you do, the more you feel the need to do it. It’s a vicious unending cycle. But,” he said, “you’re in luck. Studies show that the more time you spend away from the addictive habit and stay clean, your brain—which gets its ‘wires’ rerouted, we’ll say, so I don’t have to get too technical and bore you with the scientific explanation— can heal. The brain is a fascinating thing, Reno. You can do damage to it, which you _have_ done, by the way, and recover from it. It is surprising how much plasticity it has. Did you know you can remove one hemisphere of the brain and the other hemisphere will basically take over and compensate for the lack? Fascinating, really. I’ve always loved science.”

“Okay, whatever. Like you got my number, huh? What are you gonna do anyway? I see the fucking mirror over there on the other side of the room. You gonna watch me like an animal in a cage?”

“I could have tapered you off on a regimen of medications over a series of days. But you’re stubborn, aren’t you? Not willing to admit you need help? Well. It will be fun to see you break and beg, _Reno_.”

“Fuck you! You think I’m gonna _beg_?”

“Have you ever withdrawn before, Reno? You always had access before that happened, didn’t you? As I’ve said, I have never experienced it myself, but then I didn’t need to resort to that. I saw it in the way your facial expression changed when I spoke of the withdrawal process that you’ve never experienced it.”

“I don’t need your _motherfuckin’_ medication. You don’t know what kind of _heat_ and _fire_ I’m made of! The fuckin’ _mettle_ I’m born of! I’ve got a crown you can’t take from me! You can challenge the strength I’m made of, but you’ll be sorely mistaken for fuckin’ with me!”

“We’ll see,” Tseng said, dragging a metal chair over that Reno hadn’t realized was in the sparse room. “I’ve seen men twice your size cry and beg and scream during the process. And they were also _very_ bad men.” He also dragged a table over, opened a door that led out to…somewhere…and returned with a large jug of water and a glass.

“Oh, you wanna talk about _me_ being a bad man? You _do_ know who you work for, right? What you fuckin’ _do_?” Reno scowled.

“Hm,” Tseng said, that same stupid smile creeping onto his face that made Reno want to claw his eyes out. He took his butterfly knife out and began to play with it now, much slower, the handles making perfect arcs like he did this often when he was thinking, opening it in different ways. “We all make choices in our lives, do we not, Reno? For some of us, these choices begin simply as a means of survival. Perhaps that’s how it happens for all of us. Survival. But then we grow into it. We become it. We _justify_ it to ourselves, do we not? And some of us just do it better than others. Some of us know why we do it, however. We don’t need things like justification, because we know _exactly_ what makes us tick. Do you know what makes _you_ tick, Reno? You can sit there and say we are the same. Two bad men in a room, just on different sides, and perhaps you’d be correct, because I do know that I am a bad man, but, Reno, I assure you that we are _not_ the same.”

“You don’t know _shit_ about me,” Reno scowled.

Tseng only smirked, put his butterfly knife away, and peered at Reno, crossing his arms behind him.

Reno was already sweating and his hands were trembling, a rock sitting in the pit of his stomach, his throat feeling like acid was stuck in his esophagus, a thick nausea circling around like a wave sweeping all throughout him. All the hair stood up from his body even though he felt like he was burning up in sick waves. His head hurt in a way he never felt before, and he felt like crawling out of his skin. He felt intensely thirsty but he didn’t want to drink the water. One, he was almost certain he would throw it up, and two, he didn’t want to give Tseng the satisfaction of needing anything he gave him. Tseng then came forward, forced Reno into the chair, using zip-ties to secure him to it, but kept his hands in his lap zip-tied together.

“Now, you can tip the chair over, but you won’t be able to get to the water, and I will not right the chair until you beg. You must also tell me if you need to use the bathroom. And you _will_ need the bathroom. Often. Vomit and diarrhea are very common symptoms of withdrawal. If you _don’t_ ask, you _will_ soil yourself, and I will let you sit in it until you beg to be cleaned.”

“Won’t I fucking _die_?” Reno hissed.

“Only if you become severely dehydrated. If the water I supply you with is not adequate or you refuse to drink it I will arrange to have someone place an intravenous line and you will be hydrated that way. But. Trust me, you will _wish_ you can die and this will last _several_ days. You are already sweaty, your pupils are pinned, your hands are trembling.” He pulled off one glove with his teeth, pressed them to Reno’s carotid pulse. “Your pulse is very fast. I bet you feel very poorly now. That is why I gave you two options. You chose wrong.”

Reno glared at Tseng.

“I _hate_ you.”

“Since I’ll be the one wiping you when you have diarrhea, I would caution you to feel at least lukewarm.”

“Yeah, ok, pretty boy. You gonna take your expensive gloves off and roll up your perfectly pressed sleeves for me, then? Don’t think you’re the type who likes looking anything but perfect.”

“And I will tell you, with absolute certainty, that you don’t know _me_ at all.”

“Same, fuckface.”

Tseng gave Reno a small smile. A twitch of his lips. Just slight enough to be barely seen. He left again, came back in with a bucket, placed it at Reno’s feet, and left.

He appeared on the other side of the glass. He pressed a button and his voice filled the room. “Tell me when you need me.”

“Don’t you got shit to do? Much better shit than nursing a druggie gangster?”

“I left someone in charge. You’re all mine.”

“Fuckin’ lovely.”

“I like to get to know my new recruits. You haven’t been my first ‘druggie’, as you so eloquently put it.”

“Oh, so you put people through this all the time, huh?”

“Not all the time. And they usually choose the kinder option,” Tseng quipped.

“So I guess you can hear everything I say?”

“Yes, but you’ll only hear _me_ when I press the button to speak to you.”

“Fantastic.”

A group of ShinRa soldiers came into the room Tseng was in. One of them saluted him, then said something. It was a long something, then Tseng gave a short answer and they left. Tseng stood, slowly stripping off his gloves and placing them to the side and with the same methodical slowness he undid the buttons to his suit jacket, shrugged out of it, placed it over the chair he was sitting in, undid his tie, pulled it off and folded it and put it atop his gloves, then rolled his sleeves up. Next he took the tie out of his hair that kept it slicked back so it briefly fell into his face. Reno was staring openly. He didn’t think the man could get any _more_ beautiful, but there was something about seeing his hair in his face that made him swallow hard despite the nausea. Then he pulled his hair up into a high ponytail so it was up and out of his face. He sat back in the seat and pressed the button.

“Ready whenever you are.”

“Prick,” Reno growled.

“I will once again point out that you chose this option. I fear I will have to constantly repeat myself on that front seeing as how you enjoy a verbose discourse on the matter of my supposed cruelty. I can be quite accommodating if approached the right way.”

“No offense, _shithead_ , but I really don’t believe that. So far I’ve seen you kill mercilessly and be a dick and a half. I _highly_ doubt there’s a ‘warm and cuddly side’ to you.”

“There is not,” Tseng said, a bit of a chuckle in his voice.

“Was that a fucking laugh? Fuck. Alert the fucking media.”

“I may not be warm, but I am an excellent Director, and I assure you, all my Turks agree.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna vom…”

“There is a bucket there. I suggest you aim there.”

“Very funny, ass licking cocksucker.” But as soon as he finished the jibe he retched and leaned over as far as the zip-ties allowed so he could vomit into the bucket. Not all of it made it into the bucket. There was backsplash and it got on the scrub pants and shirt. He made a disgusted face.

Soon Reno felt pain and discomfort in his entire body and intense stomach cramps. He was fidgeting, intensely anxious, and his heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. He was sniffling, yawning, eyes tearing. All this at once made him tug at the zip-ties and start to make animal noises.

Tseng pushed the button.

“Really feeling it now, aren’t you? You know, I’m willing to still give you medicine, since, as I have already said, I am accommodating.”

“Fuck…your…medicine,” Reno panted out, then threw up again.

Tseng pressed the button again.

“Drink water.”

“Fuck you.”

“Do it or you get the IV.”

Reno grabbed at the jug with his tied hands, trembling. He almost dropped it as he poured a glass. He drank it down like a man in the middle of a dessert, draining the entire glass in two gulps. Then he poured again and gulped down a second glass.

“It can follow commands, hm? The Dragon King, reduced to this mess.”

“Hahaha. I’ve gotta shit, pretty boy.”

Tseng stood, pushed his chair in, walked in, undid all the zip-ties with his butterfly knife except the ones around Reno’s hands, and pulled him to the bathroom, opening a stall and pushing him onto the toilet seat. He extracted a package of wet wipes from his pocket. He stood there watching him.

“I can feel the chemistry between us, you know?” Reno laughed, then he fell over, vomited, and had the most intense diarrhea he had ever had in his entire life. Tseng only stepped slightly backwards so that the vomit didn’t get on his dress shoes. He touched his fingers to the earpiece he had attached to him.

“I need clean up in bathroom 2A by the interrogation room. Yes. Thank you.”

Just when Reno thought he was done he threw up again and had even more diarrhea. Tseng stood patiently. A few minutes later a janitor arrived with a mop and bucket.

“Are you done vomiting, Reno?” Tseng asked calmly, no emotion in his voice or face.

“I don’t fucking know! Oh Gods! The cramps!”

“Mm. I told you it would be unpleasant.”

“Gods, I _hate_ you.”

“We went over that already. You’re repertoire is getting repetitive. Perhaps work on your material.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Then he vomited again. Tseng held his hand up to the janitor.

“Give us a few minutes.” The janitor went to go stand outside, turning on a radio and playing country music. Tseng turned to Reno. “You need that IV. You’re losing a lot of fluid.”

“Why the fuck do you care?!” Reno yelled.

“If I had wanted to kill you, you realize, I could have. Easily. At several junctures. So, you will start to see that I _do_ care. Perhaps not today. Perhaps not tomorrow. But at some point, you will understand.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Then he yelled as another stomach cramp ripped through him. This time he didn’t vomit but diarrhea hit the bowl again. Several more stomach cramps, each time with no vomit.

“You can come in and clean,” Tseng called out. The janitor walked back in, and, as if the whole situation wasn’t weird, cleaned up around Reno until it was clear of vomit, whistling to the music the whole time. Tseng thanked him and he walked away, giving Tseng a little wave.

“See you later, Director!”

A few more bouts of stomach cramps left Reno panting and glassy eyed.

“All done for now?” Tseng asked.

“You mean that’s gonna happen _again_?!” Reno yelled.

“I told you. It’s very unpleasant. So yes.”

“Fucking Shiva’s tits,” Reno hissed.

“All done?” Tseng sighed.

“I don’t know!” Reno yelled.

“I’ll wait,” Tseng said, looking at Reno.

“Do you have to _look_ at me?!” Reno yelled.

“Where am I going to look?” Tseng countered.

“Not at me!” Reno yelled again.

“Very well,” Tseng said, looking at the stall wall.

“That’s _much_ better,” Reno said sarcastically.

“I don’t know where you want me to look,” Tseng sighed.

“I want you to let me wipe my _own_ ass. And to not be here _at all_.” Another stomach cramp, and more watery diarrhea hit the bowl. “Fuck! How much can I shit?!”

“You’d be surprised,” Tseng commented dryly.

“I don’t need your stupid commentary!” Reno yelled.

“You yell a lot, I am noticing. Do you think that helps you get your point across better?” Tseng asked, tilting his head.

“ _Gods_ , I hate you,” Reno growled.

“And _you_ are starting to lose your charm.” Tseng tapped his foot.

“You thought I was charming?” Reno laughed weakly.

“No, not really. You were annoying, entitled, simple, and crass from the start,” Tseng shrugged.

“ _Simple_?” Reno yelled.

“Oh, so you were fine with the rest,” Tseng said.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

“Oh, it’s a chant now. Are you done?”

“I have no idea. I’d rather sit a few more minutes.”

“Very well. So. Why Dragon King? Why a green dragon?”

“Do you know what green dragons symbolize?”

“I’m Wutain, in case you are blind and forgot all your racism from earlier,” Tseng said, raising a brow.

“Then you know. Don’t know why yer askin’.”

“I’m asking what it means to _you_ , a man who is not Wutain in the least and apparently is racist toward Wutains.”

“I’ve always straddled the line between life and death,” Reno said. “The color green used to be for criminals back in like, feudal era an’ shit? And because there was a sweet old Wutain couple that used to invite me in and feed me near the markets, even when I was real small. They had a small place, but it was homey. They always made me feel welcome an’ shit, even though I was a street rat. They even gave me a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese to snack on for the rest of the day, so I really was a rat. Anyway. They had this really pretty tapestry of a green dragon climbing a mountain with all these trees and flowers. They told me green dragons were especially meaningful in the springtime, gave ya good luck n’ shit. And when I moved up in the world, you could say, I found this guy. He was the most renowned Wutain tattoo artist in Midgar. He started tattooing in Wutai but he knew he’d make more money overseas, so he moved. His name is Takumi Daigo. He was a dot head, like you. Said he was a monk at the Daigo Shingon Buddhist temple until he decided that lifestyle was too stifling.”

“Can you stop calling people ‘dot heads’? It’s called a byakugō, by the way. It’s an auspicious mark. It symbolizes the third eye, which is said to allow you to see into the divine world, well past our existence of pain and suffering and into a place beyond that. To a place of Nirvana, where one is at peace and the cycle of life and death is understood. All living things must die, and the planet generates life from death. We all worship the same things, but with different names.”

“Were you a monk?” Reno asked. “Not that I care.”

“To have the byakugō you don’t have to be a monk. Just a believer in the teachings of Buddha, and my family was very religious. But they sent me away when I was eleven and I joined the Turks when I was thirteen.”

“Anyway,” Reno said, as if Tseng hadn’t said anything, “that couple died. Saw the For Rent sign and asked the neighbors. Both died a day apart from each other. If that ain’t true love, I dunno what is. Still miss ‘em.”

“And the facial tattoos? What do those symbolize?” Tseng asked.

“I like foxes? It’s what it symbolizes. I like what foxes represent. Mischievous and cunning motherfuckers.”

“Then why call yourself the Dragon King? You could have been the Fox King.”

“Nah, dragons are cooler. No offense to my homies the foxes. I’m just a complex motherfucker.”

“So,” Tseng said. “Are you done? You _seem_ done.”

“I was tellin’ ya a heart-warming story about _your_ people.”

“We are _not_ all alike,” Tseng said, hauling Reno up.

“Clearly. Some Wutain men with perfect stupid hair and who smell like fuckin’ expensive girlyass shampoo an’ shit are _clearly_ assholes.”

“I’m about to wipe your…rear end. Don’t make it any more awkward by speaking.” Tseng went to task after snapping on rubber gloves, wiping thoroughly and gently and then cleaning after with the wet wipes. He even used the wet wipes on Reno’s feet where the vomit had been beneath them. Then he flushed the toilet until all the mess was clear.

“Well, that happened,” Reno piped up.

“Yes,” Tseng said, turning the gloves inside out into a little ball so he didn’t have to touch the dirty outside part and then tossed them out. He hauled Reno over to the sink and Tseng washed his hands thoroughly, counting to 30 out loud while scrubbing his hands and fingernails.

“What’s with the counting shit?” Reno asked after he finished awkwardly washing his own. Because.

“None of your business. Let’s go.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ kook. All Buddhist an’ shit but you torture and kill people and talk about the third eye, Nirvana and the cycle of life and death when all you do is kill people for a living.”

“I never professed to be Buddhist. You can be born into something that holds little to no meaning to you, no? And my parents birthed me, they gave me this mark when I was still a baby, but they _did not_ raise me.”

“Oooh, found a soft spot, Reno said, wiggling his fingers as much as he could in the restraints.

“Come,” Tseng said, pulling Reno back into the interrogation room, retying his legs. “I’m going to call a nurse to come set up your IV.”

“Is that really necessary?” Reno asked.

“You’re sweating profusely. You just threw up and defecated a great deal. You need an IV.” Tseng stalked away, ponytail swinging, and went into the other room. He looked like he was talking on that earpiece thingy again in the other room. Reno slumped forward a little bit, exhausted and feeling like a Midgar train ran him over. Not to mention he still felt hot and cold and headachy and nauseous and like he wanted to jump out of his skin all at the same time.

Twenty minutes later a nurse arrived with a protein shake and a tray of materials, hauling a pole with a machine attached to it and a long IV line draped over it. She set the protein drink on the table and said “see if you can keep that down. If so, I’ll bring you another one later.” Then she began hunting for a site to place the IV.

“Good fuckin’ luck,” Reno jeered. His arms were a mess of bruises both old and new as well as hematomas.

“IV user. And not good at it. Oh dear.”

“Don’t need your commentary. I know I suck at finding veins, but to be fair my veins fuckin’ suck. White as shit and unlucky. And, yeah, well. It’s the quickest high.”

She selected the smallest catheter needle, usually meant for a child. She’d been alerted by Tseng he was an IV user based on presentation. She knew what to grab with her. She turned both arms this way and that, hunting for a viable vein, then said, “aha.” She tied a tourniquet around 5 inches above the vein, told him to make a fist, smacked at the little vein for a full minute or two until it popped up just the slightest bit, and placed the IV in one go, undoing the butterfly tourniquet with a small tug and then attached and looped the tubing after checking patency with a normal saline flush.

“Am I supposed to taste salt?”

“Some people do. Some people don’t. Kind of a weird thing that just happens.” She placed a clear sticker over the IV site to secure it in place then attached it to the machine and tapped out some buttons to start it up. “Be back when Tseng calls me to change it out.”

“Uh. ‘Kay. Thanks, I guess?”

“She’s good,” Tseng said after she left, pressing the button. “She’s worked on Turks for decades. She knows how to handle hard sticks and she works fast and very efficiently, even in trauma situations. I’m not surprised she found a vein on you, though I knew it would be difficult. You really are _not_ good at being an IV drug user. Look at it as an opportunity to quit forever. Besides, if you do it again, you’ll end up back here, and I don’t think you want that, now do you? And, I’m sorry to say, three strikes and it’s death-row for you. What can be given can be taken away. The universe gives and takes. Life and death. Make sure you keep that in check, Reno.”

“Fuck you in the ass with a rusty spoon, you pretentious fake intellectual fuck” Reno growled.

“Better than ‘I hate you’, I suppose,” Tseng said,” doing a slow clap.

“Hate hate _hate_. You gotta be a cocksucker. Knees must hurt from sucking all that cock. Bet that’s how you became a Director. Suckin’ cock ‘til they said ‘whatever, here, lead these assholes to do espionage’ or whatever bullshit it is you guys do.”

“If I told you I became Director on merit you wouldn’t believe me,” Tseng shrugged, “so believe whatever you wish. But, I can assure you, you will regret it. And espionage is only one of the things we do. Being a Turk is very nuanced, as you will find out.”

“What’s so complicated about being the prez’s bitches? He tells you what to do, you do it. Simple.”

“Mm. Orders come from all sides depending on need, and we are also autonomous. You should have done your homework before incensing ShinRa.” Tseng wagged his finger. “And keep talking, you’re only digging your own grave. Scut work will look like heaven compared to what I do with you.”

“Excellent. You got smokes anywhere?"

“If you think I’m letting you smoke a cigarette in there, you’re insane,” Tseng said, raising a brow.

“First of all, you _know_ I’m insane.” Reno tipped his head back and laughed like he was unhinged, then grinned at Tseng. “And If you’re not gonna let me do coke or blow, it’d be nice to have some nicotine.”

“I can arrange some nicotine gum for you,” Tseng said without inflection.

“Fuck _that_.”

“Well, I _did_ offer. I can be generous, or I can be cruel. It depends upon which side you invoke,” Tseng said, holding his hands up, tilting each to indicate the tipping of scales.

“Well, you _did_ wipe my ass like I was a newborn baby or some shit. I expected rougher treatment. You _do_ know how to be generous.”

“Was that complimentary? I may actually be stunned.” Tseng tilted his head, blinking in that way he did when he didn’t understand something.

“Wait, you know what sarcasm is?” Reno laughed. “You seem like a fuckin’ robot, no offense. Okay, offense. You need a system upgrade. Like, a big one. Overhaul the whole fuckin’ mess.”

“Keep talking,” Tseng said, tapping his fingers on the glass, mouth slipping into a sly smile. “How are you feeling?”

“How the fuck do you _think_ I’m feeling, jackass? Gods, you’re a real winner, aren’t ya? You’re the head of the department and you ask a junkie who’s withdrawing how he feels? I feel like I’m lying in a grass field with a daisy crown in my hair, the sun shining on me as I jack off to President Shinra’s portly belly, because that really does it for me, motherfucker. How’s that for an answer?” Almost immediately after he started throwing up again.

This repeated until the morning, Tseng dragging Reno to the bathroom when necessary. Reno barely slept, which meant that Tseng didn’t either. Reno looked like a mess, and Tseng’s hair wasn’t as neat as it had been, but he otherwise didn’t look like he’d spent the entire night awake. Reno suspected it was something he did often. Whether it was for work or otherwise he didn’t know.

The next few days were the very definition of hell. Reno felt like he was slipping down into a grave.

But he smiled, even as sick as felt, because he knew that there ain’t no grave that could hold his body down.


	2. TWO

Finally Reno stopped vomiting and stopped going to the bathroom. He felt like he’d been through a war, but he felt better, he had gotten through it and broke out through to the other side. Tseng asked what he wanted to eat at this point, since he was tolerating the shakes now without vomiting. Reno wanted a burger and french fries and a big ol’ cookies n’ cream milkshake, so that’s what he got, and it stayed down. They had weighed him before he started withdrawing and he’d lost fifteen pounds in a week. He was slim before, but now, when he looked in the mirror to brush his teeth and shower, zip-ties taken off, he looked absolutely skeletal. He turned this way and that, saw his rib cage, the ridges of his vertebrae in his spinal column, and his cheeks and eye sockets looked sunken in..

When he was done showering he stepped out and Tseng was there, in a fresh suit, hair done, handing Reno a towel. He held his hands behind him, turned sharply, and instructed him to follow. Reno did. This man had spent a week wiping his ass. Yes, he was an asshole, but there was apparently a method to his madness. Reno never wanted to experience that again.

He was given a room. It was a plain white room with a bed, a chair, and a table.

“Gain twenty pounds and you can be fitted for a suit,” Tseng said, then he closed the door.

“Twenty?!” he yelled at the door, but there was no answer forthcoming.

He ate six meals a day. Two protein shakes, a snack, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He could have whatever he wanted for those meals, and so he chose anything he could never get in the slums.

It took him almost three weeks to gain twenty pounds, but he did it.

When Tseng arrived he’d been half asleep. He saw him, his eyes hazy, and his first thought was “Am I seeing an Angel?” but then Tseng blew a whistle and he remembered very quickly what an asshole he was and how much he loathed him.

“Huh? Wha?” Reno asked intelligently.

“Are you awake?”

“I fucking _guess_ ,” Reno groused. “What the fuck? A whistle? You a twisted drill sergeant?”

“You could say that, if you wish,” Tseng said, smiling slightly. “Let’s go.” Reno, who had existed for three weeks in sweats and trainers, was excited at the prospect of having real clothes again. He had _style_ once. For four weeks he’d been in scrubs and these Gods awful things. Baggy nonsense that made him feel like a pile of garbage on top of being skeletal. But he was back to his previous weight now, plus ten pounds. He had been too thin on the streets, and perhaps Tseng had recognized that.

“It will be hard for you to keep this weight on. You might lose it again. Withdrawal won’t last just that one week you suffered. You felt sick and threw up when you were in that room, I imagine? Let me bring you to my apartment.”

“Your apartment?” Reno asked, confused.

“You’ll be staying with me until you can be on your own,” Tseng said as if it was obvious.

“Don’t we hate each other?”

“Oh, I don’t hate you,” Tseng said.

“Huh?”

“You made a big show of hating me, but I don’t think you hate me either,” Tseng shrugged. “You might even like me.”

Reno flushed.

“Why would I like you?!” he yelled.

“It’s not too far,” Tseng said, cutting that conversation off. “We’re already in the building.”

They left wherever they had been. It seemed like a holding room, and two doors whooshed open into a floor. There were ShinRa logos on every panel, and the floors were so shiny you could see yourself in them. Potted plants were strewn around (whether they were real was debatable), and there was a desk where there was a constant stream of phone calls with people answering the phones like clockwork. There were men and women in suits of varying styles, and they all looked like they had important places to be. Some of them got on the elevators, others were leaving the building through an exit more elaborate than any Reno had ever seen.

“We were in ShinRa HQ this whole time?”

“I thought you would have deduced that,” Tseng said, walking straight over to a specific elevator, pressing a keycard up to a scanner, and pressing the button. Reno looked up. The elevator was labeled so he assumed each elevator had certain destinations and clearances. “I have access to everything and every floor except the science department. For obvious reasons.”

“Obvious reasons? Not obvious to me.”

“It’s not a Turk’s business what Professor Hojo and his assistants are doing in there. There are delicate specimens and equipment. And, moreover, Professor Hojo has expressed his distaste for the Department of Administrative Research on several occasions.”

“Depart of Administrative Research? Like, no offense, but that sounds like a cover up name,” Reno deadpanned.

“You’ll see. We do plenty of research. People think all we do is kill mindlessly, but that’s not the entire point of our program. And you will have plenty of reports to complete. For instance: what happened during your mission, what went wrong, what went right. It is _my_ duty to parse the data, to form statistical analyses based on all reports and present my findings to not only President Shinra, but to the board. I don’t actually sit in on meetings. I’m far too busy for that, but they discuss the results all the same. Usually Scarlet handles that. She is the Director of Weapons Development. This includes death rates, explanations for said deaths, terrorist involvements, use of heavy weaponry and artillery and ShinRa soldier involvement, among many other things. You might be thinking that I do a lot of paperwork, and yes, that is true.

“I’ve come up with an efficient system and a more concise and detailed presentation than any other Turk Director, but I am also in the field quite a bit, and as you witnessed, I am by no means a man who sits on his laurels. There is a training simulation room on the 49th floor. It is usually reserved for SOLDIERS so I cannot guarantee you will ever have clearance, but that is how I train. It is quite responsive and depending on which difficulty you set it to, your ‘opponent’, shall we say, becomes craftier and harder to outsmart and therefore harder to beat. But you have other Turks to help you train. I just prefer the training simulation because no one offers me the challenge I need.”

“Cocky bastard,” Reno grumbled.

As they ascended, Reno’s ears popped.

“What the fuck number floor you on? Why does this elevator move so fast?”

“50th. Efficiency.” Tseng stood, legs hip width apart, hands behind his back.

“Do you ever stand like a human being?” Reno grumbled, examining Tseng.

“Not really, no,” Tseng said simply. “It is a habit. Keeping your legs hip width apart is a smart thing to do. Your center of gravity is more stable. My hands behind my back is a gesture of respect and awaiting orders.”

“Uh, number one, there are no threats in this elevator, and number two, I don’t see anyone you respect much less anyone you’re gonna get orders from.”

“As I indicated, it is a habit. I do it on such a consistent basis that it is my default mode of standing.”

“You’re a fucking weirdo with no fuckin’ life, you know that?” Reno blinked.

“I’ve been told on multiple occasions to ‘chill out’ or to ‘take my position less seriously’, but I am glad to have such a position and I am very passionate about it, and that is never going to change.”

“Are you from the slums?” Reno asked. It was a hunch.

“Yes and no,” Tseng said as the elevator dinged open.

“That’s not a ‘yes and no’ question,” Reno said. “You either are or you aren’t from the slums.”

“As you have gathered, I am Wutain. I have a byakugō on my forehead, so that indicates that I was, at one point, Buddhist. Many Buddhists are poor to the point of destitution. I grew up, for the most part, in Wutai, but never saw the beautiful picturesque parts people picture when they think of Wutai. I believe we’ve been over this already.” He held a keycard up to a door that was made of frosted glass. “It looks delicate, but it is bulletproof,” he said, obviously switching the conversation to the door.

They both stepped inside. Reno almost laughed. It was sterile. Beautiful, symmetry unparalleled, delicate colors balanced of light and dark, and opulent in that minimalist sort of way he always imagined rich people lived above the plate. He guessed it paid good money to be a Turk.

“Take your shoes off. I do not allow shoes to be worn in the apartment. I have placed sandals in your room should you prefer that to being barefoot or having to wear socks, which I discourage due to tracking.

“I have a cleaning lady come by three times a week. I do not tolerate dust and I have no time to clean. I have checked her credentials and had her tested extensively. I still test her periodically on a basis that has no pattern. She must also wear clean uniforms when entering which I have cleaned and starched for her weekly in a manner that leaves no smell, and I have her cover her feet with medical-grade booties. I also stipulate that she does not wear perfume, as I am very sensitive to the smell and the scent lingers. I also pre-approved the cleaning products, as I have already stated I have a delicate nose.”

“Uh, anyone ever tell you that you might have OCD?” Reno asked as he removed his shoes and put them next to what appeared to be a few different pairs of dress shoes in several shades, but those shades did not vary much. Of course not. Tseng bent over to untie his black Turk shoes as well, leaving them by the other dress shoes. _Doesn’t this guy have sneakers_? Reno thought.

“It has come up.”

“So. You were born in Wutai, and then you came here. You said you were destitute.”

“Yes, me and my parents worked on a farm that dealt exclusively in the picking, making, and packaging of rice. You might know it as a rice paddy?”

“So…how’d you make it to Midgar? I doubt the kindness of a stranger.”

“Here is your room,” Tseng said, showing Reno a room with a sliding door. “It locks from the inside. And from the outside. So I suggest you don’t do anything stupid. It is also bulletproof, so once you receive a weapon you will not be able to force your way out if I lock you in. Not that you will have your weapon on you at all times. I do not trust you. I have a safe. I will put it in there. I hope you will be comfortable. Food is delivered weekly. I don’t order much of it, but if you want to add anything to the list, there is a notepad on the refrigerator door.”

“Wait, where are you going? You weren’t done telling me your story.”

“Perhaps I will tell you another day. It is after midnight and I have to be in the office at 8. Someone will be by around 10 to take you to get a suit tailored. You will have five in total. If you should have need of more, you can either have them pressed, or simply buy more. But you have a 5 day work week, unless you are called in for additional days. Your work week will rotate. I have a system for that which I believe is quite fair, since Turks need to be available at all times, of course. Get some rest.”

Tseng padded down the rest of the hallway, slid his door open, and then Reno heard it lock. He rolled his eyes, then slid his own door open. Apparently this was going to be his home for some indeterminate amount of time. He locked the door out of spite, even though he was pretty certain that if Tseng had spent all that time getting him clean and then feeding him until he gained weight, that he wasn’t just going to kill him in the night. For now, at least.

There were a bunch of clothes already in the closet, which he had to slide to the side in a similar fashion as the door. There were more items in the drawers tucked down below. Socks, underwear, pajamas. Reno changed out of the Gods awful sweat suit, tossed it in the hamper in the room (although he wanted to burn them, along with the shoes and the tightie whities) and then he put on a pair of the most comfortable boxer briefs in a dark gray color that he’d ever worn. He’d always preferred boxer briefs, so at least OCD boy knew what he was doing. And the pajama bottoms were some kind of cotton, but they felt expensive and very comfortable. This he could get used to. Both items fit very well. OCD boy had a good eye for sizing.

He looked at the bed. It was large, but didn’t overpower the room, and it looked _very_ inviting. Dark gray sheets and a nice big fluffy pillow and downy-looking comforter. He smiled and slipped right in. It was so comfortable and so much better than _anything_ he’d ever slept in that he was asleep almost instantly.

He dreamt something. Something that was weird. It was about Tseng, on the streets of Midgar, a waifish nothing. But then there was a loud knock at the door.

He put on the slippers provided, which were more like foot sandwiches than slippers, but he wasn’t going to complain. He then walked up to the door and saw the shadow of a very tall man with a broad chest, but who was otherwise lean. Reno, who was usually afraid of no one, had no weapon and was wearing next to nothing, and “slippers” were not combat gear—at least not these ones. Being a street hooligan, you learned real fast that sandals and fly swatters _hurt_. He very carefully opened the door. The clock on the wall read 10.

“I’m here to take you for a suit fitting?” the man said, adjusting his earpiece, which seemed very obvious to Reno. It seemed to tell him “boss has eyes and ears”. The man was slightly tan and had the sort of build and facial structure that indicated he was a mutt as far as heritage went and he wore one horseshoe earring in one ear and a series of rings in the other. He had a very clean-cut black suit with a black raised textured tie. He was easily almost a foot taller than Reno, and he had black shades on which he adjusted with one gloved finger. “Boss told me you’d be ready. I don’t see ‘ready’. I see ‘I just woke up’. Get your ass inside and throw something on. Fast.” Reno could tell he’d been looking him up and down even through the dark glasses, judging. This skinny thing, a recruit? Reno was also about 5’8”, maybe 5’9” depending on the shoes. Okay, _maybe_ he was lying to himself and he was only 5’7.5”, but that 0.5 was important. It allowed him to round up to 5’8” when people asked. Not the most threatening height in the world. He always had to make up for it, go the extra mile, make people see what sort of stuff he was made of. That was fine. The guy outside would see. So he went back to “his” room and pulled some clothes off the hangers quickly, put on a pair of dress shoes inside since there was no other option but the hideous trainers that looked like they were from the ‘80’s, and not in a cool way, and brushed his teeth with a toothbrush in a long line of new ones (what the fuck?), tried to tame his wild hair, and walked back out the door still running his hands through his unruly red hair.

“That color? Can’t be real,” the man with the shades commented.

“You shut your mouth.”

“All I’m sayin’ is the carpet doesn’t match the drapes. Your ‘pajamas’ and boxers? Left your little happy trail showing, and it wasn’t red. You’re a darkish blond at most. Maybe light brown by the shade of your eyebrows. Must soak up the color nice, though.”

“The fuck you lookin’ at that for? You gay?”

“You see a man with bright red hair, you get curious.”

“I’d keep your curiosity to yourself,” Reno almost hissed.

“We’ll see, pretty boy. You still got assessments to complete. You fuck those up? You get remediation.”

“What?” Reno asked, confused.

“You dumb?” the Turk asked.

“Hey! No! Just…what are the assessments?” Reno asked.

“They’re designed to show what kinda Turk you’ll be. I mean, tests don’t _always_ prove things—I’d say the proof is in the pudding, but it tests speed, accuracy, problem solving. You know, shit you need to be a Turk? I heard you were some sort of mob boss. Saw some of your tattoo. This isn’t like that. It’s more refined. Killin’ in style. I bet you’ll ace the speed portion based on what Boss Man said, but oof, I dunno about anything else.”

“Hey, fuck you and your Gods damned mother,” Reno growled.

“Sure are feisty for a little guy. I like it. What’s with the face tattoos?”

“Gang shit. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Is that so?”

“Means I’ve killed.”

“Okay, then, tough guy.”

The tall Turk walked in a way that said he didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought of him. And the way he tightened his gloves over his fists told Reno that he was always prepared for a fight. Reno liked his swagger. They left ShinRa HQ and made their way to a little hole in the wall. It was somewhere in Sector 5. The guy tailoring him was all but 4’11”, which was honestly strange to say the least. He got up on a stool to measure Reno which was honestly a first, not that he’d ever been fitted for a suit, but just the action of someone getting on a stool to get up to his height was rare. The guy talked on and on about the tradition of Turk suits, how he’d made them from the 60’s up until now and how he’d evolved them over time. They used to be this bluish-grayish shiny color, apparently, then blue outright (kind of a quasi-midnight color), then, finally, they were black. They used to all be the same, uniform, nothing stylistically different about them. But this iteration was different and he made custom suits befitting everyone’s tastes. It was made of a sort of Kevlar mesh, to start. It was virtually undetectable. You’d have to literally feel the fabric to know it was Kevlar, he said. Mythril was woven in—for good luck? he said.

When it came time to talk about design Reno grinned. The tall Turk with the glasses pushed them down slightly to show his eyes which were a medium shade of hazel, looking at Reno through the mirror. Reno expected that he would have dark eyes, so that was a surprise. He was also surprised to see his eyebrows were perfectly waxed. Well, he guessed it made sense. He was perfectly shaven to a fault, as if the razor he used was like a tiny sculpting device made for a goblin, not a man—if goblins shaved, which Reno suspected they didn’t. The point was, his beard, sideburns, and mustache were so carefully trimmed that it was almost an impossibility.

“Boss likes _conservative_ ,” The Turk said, knowing where Reno’s head was at.

“Yeah, well, _I_ don’t.”

“Your funeral,” the tall Turk said. He’d never actually said his name.

“What’s your name, Big Guy? Not very talkative.”

“Rude,” the Turk said.

“Rude? As in, like, disrespectful?”

“No, it’s my name.”

“But it means disrespectful.”

“I suppose. To certain people. Certain Turks are named after character traits or weapon choices.”

“So you’re named after being rude?”

“I’m quiet.”

“So people think you’re being rude.”

“I suppose.”

“‘Kay. So, like, if you’re ‘rude’, you won’t mind me getting a little ‘rude’ with my suit style, now will ya?”

“Told you. Your funeral. Boss might kill you the second he sees you. Wouldn’t blame him.”

Reno rubbed his hands together and then explained the suit design he wanted. The little man furrowed his brows and explained baring his chest was not a good idea. Rude agreed with a nod and then chimed in to tell him he was a “stupid idiot”, but Reno insisted, so the little man took out a sketchbook, drew a quick mock-up, and showed it to Reno.

“Perfect,” he grinned, the smile a little lopsided. After that, the little tailor made a few more measurements tailored to what he was specifically going to make. He also pulled out what he called a Brannock device but to Reno was a foot measure thingy and he fit him for shoes, which he explained the cobbler next door would take care of. 

“Return tonight. I work fast. Additional suits will be ready the next day, but that will be fine. You’ll have the first suit for tomorrow’s first day! Good luck.”

As they left, Rude bent down almost double to talk close to Reno’s ear. “You know you’re a moron, right?”

“Always been a moron, but Lady Luck has always been on my side! I’m reckless, but I got skill to back it up. You’ll see. I’ll ace those assessments so hard no one will know what ta’do with me. Tseng will be so surprised he’ll personally thank me.”

“Wow,” Rude said. “Not sure what to think of that. You certainly got spunk, that’s for sure. But as for Boss Man thanking you? Not going to happen. Not in your wildest dreams. You should be very grateful to him. He could have easily killed you or turned you in. But he saw something in you. He’s even letting you stay at his place. That’s unheard of. So we’ll see tomorrow what you’re made of.”

Rude returned him to Tseng’s apartment, using his keycard to let him in.

“Boss Man gets home very late, so I’ll be taking you to go back to get your suit. Eat something for dinner, Dead Meat. See ya later.”

“Oh, I totally appreciate that comment,” Reno said. “Name’s Reno.”

“I’m aware of your name,” Rude said and closed and locked the door.

Reno stared at the door for a moment, annoyed, and contemplated not taking his shoes off out of spite, but then he did, propping them up in place of the trainers, which he tossed in the trash. Then he walked over to the fridge to inspect what was in it.

“Minerva, does this guy _eat_?” Reno asked out loud. There was a wedge of cheese, eggs, and milk.” Looking around, he found rice packets, cereal, ramen packages (the real kind, from Little Wutai), and a loaf of bread. He made the ramen in the microwave, broke off a chunk of the cheese, and a hunk of the bread, plated that, and sat on the couch to eat. He’d never really eaten alone or been in an area where he could sit and just be alone with his thoughts, so it was an odd feeling. He usually ate with a group of his guys, going over the day, strategizing, and if it was cold enough they made a dumpster fire with cherry bombs or newspaper lit with lighters so they didn’t freeze. Sitting alone in a hoity toity apartment? Yeah, definitely weird. When he was done he washed the plate, not having noticed there was a dishwasher and wasn’t even familiar with what it was anyway. He opened the door, saw the slots, and figured it was for some type of cleaning but he didn’t actually connect the dots. He placed the plate he’d cleaned in the rack by the sink. Then he waited for Rude, sitting on the couch, jiggling his leg impatiently. He didn’t see a television anywhere. Maybe Tseng didn’t own one? It was possible. He was weird enough. More likely there was some sort of technological dohickey that made it fold out, but he didn’t even know the first thing about that so he just sat there doing nothing but thinking stupid thoughts about random things. At least he was full. It was hard to be full on the streets. He wondered just how late Tseng would get home. If they’d talk. Probably not.

Rude knocked on the door at around 7:30. Reno jumped up. He’d been so bored he was desperately glad that he had someone to interrupt the silence, and if he was being honest, he was excited to see his suit. Rude didn’t have to knock. He had the keycard, after all, but Reno supposed it was meant to be a courtesy. He was kind of a nice guy, Rude, so his name was actually kind of dumb. He opened the door, pulling on his shoes, then closed the door behind him and locked it.

“Sure Boss will give you a keycard soon so you can come and go as you please, but it might not be for a bit. Most likely a Turk will take you home every day, and it will probably be me.”

“What’d you do to get such an honor of distinction?” Reno asked, raising a brow.

“I’m good with newbies. I’ll probably be your partner for a bit. Kinda my thing.”

“Training newbies?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you like it so much?” Reno asked.

“I like to see people grow into the kind of Turk they’re gonna be.”

“That’s a little sappy,” Reno said, making a face. “Aw.”

“Whatever. Don’t judge me.”

“Judgment activated,” Reno said in a robotic voice, swinging his arms like a robot.

“What the…”

“Oh, that was my Tseng impression. Pretty good, right? You do know he’s like….one of those androids who can peel their faces off and reveal their circuitry beneath, right? Explains his perfect skin and stupid personality defects.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rude said, refusing to engage.

“Oh, come on! He’s not human! He’s a robot!”

“Mmhm,” Rude said. “I will refrain from telling him you said so.”

“You got my six! You’re all right, Rude. Even if your name is stupid.”

“My name is not stupid,” Rude protested.

“It’s a little stupid. What’s your real name?”

“Rude.”

“Are all you fuckers insufferable?” Reno lamented.

“For the most part. Comes with the job title, I’m afraid.”

“Fuck. I just lost my cool points, then.”

“Doubt you ever had ‘cool points’,” Rude raised a brow.

“I was a mob boss. That’s _kinda_ cool.”

“It’s _kinda_ stupid. ShinRa always collects.”

“Whatever. You’re just mad you’re not as cool as me.”

“We’re here, cool guy. Can’t wait to see the outfit you’re gonna die in. Ah, what’s-his-name. So young when he ceased to be. Such a shame. He was an asshole, though, so there’s a bit of a consolation in that.”

“The name is _Reno_.”

“Ex-Reno.”

The little old man greeted them both and brought out the suit and a pair of shoes. Reno went behind the curtain and changed, then came out. He looked in the mirror and threw some punches experimentally. The suit was very fluid and fit extremely well, and the chest was open, just how he’d stipulated. It closed just below his chest, and the shoes were _surprisingly_ comfortable.

“I also have an assortment of gloves, should you need them.”

“Yup! Gotta protect my beautiful knuckles,” Reno laughed, then picked out a pair.

“Everything up to snuff?” the little man asked.

“Oh yeah,” Reno laughed.

“Wow,” Rude said.

“Speechless, Big Guy?”

“Only because you’re gonna be up shit creek without a paddle and I’m just gonna laugh.”

“The Director already paid me in full, so enjoy!” the little man said.

Reno went behind the curtain to change back into the clothes he’d been in and the little man gave him a bag for the suit and the shoes.

“Everything’s gonna be _fine_ ,” Reno said.

“Mmhm.”

“Do you drink, Rude?”

“On occasion.”

“Wanna go hit up a bar?”

“The night before you so tragically pass on from this mortal realm?”

“What better time?”

“I don’t think you have a Gil to your name,” Rude said, eyebrow raised. “Not after we raided your den.”

“You’re buying,” Reno smirked.

“If you drink tonight, you’ll feel like hot garbage tomorrow and you have assessments, in case you forgot.”

“What are you, my grandpappy?” Reno asked, tossing the suit bag over his shoulder.

“Fine, but we should probably bring that back to Tseng’s apartment and put it away first,” Rude said, one finger pressing his sunglasses back up his nose.

“Quick question,” Reno said as they started back toward ShinRa HQ.

“Mm.”

“It’s like, after 8, my man. The shades? Like, can you even see?”

“Mmhm.”

“Ooookay,” Reno laughed. “So all of you are weird.”

“Mmhm.”

Reno squinted up at Rude, even as they entered ShinRa HQ.

They dropped off the suit bag, which Rude made him hang up.

“The suits don’t wrinkle because of the Kevlar, but the shirt will. Not that yours has much of a shirt,” Rude pointed out. “Which, as we both know, will be the reason you meet an untimely end, but I digress.”

When they got to the bar they ordered two shots of whiskey to start.

“What are we toasting to?” Reno asked.

“Your inevitable death, of course,” Rude smirked.

“Right, right,” Reno agreed.


	3. THREE

The next morning Rude came to collect him. Tseng had already left. Dude was like a ninja. Rude had two coffee cups in a tray.

“Got you latte with two shots of espresso. You will need it.”

“Thanks, bro. You’re all right, you know that? I could fuck with you.”

“I’m not sure what that means, but I suppose that’s a compliment,” Rude said, no inflection in his voice.

“Yes. Yes it is. No homo, though, bro. Let’s go, I’m gonna murder those assessments.” He took the cup and took a long sip, making an audible sound of pleasure. “Fuck, that’s good coffee.”

“Assessments take place in an undisclosed area and I’m not allowed to tell you where. It’s a secret,” Rude said.

“I thought we were bros, man,” Reno complained.

“It’s about an hour from here by chopper,” Rude said. He took long sips from his coffee cup as he walked. He led them to a specific elevator and placed his keycard to it, pressing the button. “We’re going to the roof. That’s where the helipad is.”

“No shit! I get to ride in a chopper?” Reno bounced excitedly.

“Tone your enthusiasm down. Some of us aren’t as young and resilient or properly awake yet.”  
“Dude, you drank me under the table last night. What are you, from Rocket Town? Besides! I’ve always wanted to fly one of those things.”

“No, Midgar. And, Seriously?” Rude asked, raising one carefully groomed eyebrow. “We need more pilots and no one wants to do it. I do it but I’d rather have back up.”

“I’ll do it!” Reno said, beaming.

“Well, you know, you have to live first, but if you live, I’ll set you up with an instructor. If you don’t live, I will mourn what could have been.”

“Sweet,” Reno said, chugging the coffee. Rude looked over, looked back straight ahead, then chugged his own.

Finally they reached the helicopter pad. It was at the very top of the ShinRa building and when Reno looked over the edge he felt his stomach do a flop. He’d never been this high off the ground before and it was unsettling. Rude was already climbing into the cockpit so Reno tossed out his coffee cup in the waste receptacle by the door after crunching it down and got into the passenger seat, trying to figure out how to strap himself in without looking like a tool. Rude rolled his eyes and harnessed him in. It was complicated, so Rude need not have been so grumpy, but Reno was beginning to think all Turks were grumpy. He’d only met two so far. But still.

The entire ride he chattered excitedly about the chopper, the view, the artillery it had, what he ate for breakfast, the fact that he secretly threw up last night, and a dozen other things. Rude was silent for the most part, but he did interject that his “secret” vomiting hadn’t been so “secret”.

The place to land in was literally a stretch of land off to the side of everything, but Reno saw the set up straight away, both from an aerial view and when Rude unclipped him out of the passenger seat. The place looked desolate. There was a gun range, what looked like a display of weapons, a barn, and an area that was sectioned off, presumably for fighting. The whole area looked kind of sad and muted like a dead dust bowl, and everything was this brownish color. He had no idea where he was. He did a flip out of the passenger seat and threw his hands up into the air, stretching, yawning, and then yelling “Whoo! That was so cool. Like, you guys have the neatest toys.”

“Show off. And they’re not toys. They are weapons,” Rude said.

“Whatever, you bore.”

“Let me introduce you to everyone. Even though you’re about to be deceased. Passed on. No more. Dead. Gone from this mortal plane. You will cease to be. Be bereft of life. Your metabolic processes will be history. You will kick the bucket. You will shuffle off your mortal coil. You will be an Ex-Reno.”

“You know, I don’t know who’s more annoying. You or Tseng,” Reno said, stopping to tap a finger on his chin. “Wait, wait, the answer is coming to me. Tseng. Tseng by a long shot.”

“I will also refrain from telling him you said that,” Rude said. There was a hint of a smile on his face, however. As they walked closer, there was a small gathering of people, all in varying styles of black suits. His was the most indecent of them by far. In fact, they were all pretty conservative. He didn’t really care. It just meant he stood out.

“Uh, I can almost see its nipples,” a guy said, pointing, black cigarette jammed in his mouth, puffing on it before ashing it with his black-gloved hand. “The fuck is up with that? Boss will kill him.” He wore sunglasses, just like Rude. What was it with sunglasses and these people? His hair was a coppery color, slicked back but almost too unruly and curled at the back to be contained, side burns of a man who’d never let the ‘70’s go, which also reflected in his suit. The pants and sleeves flared out. He wore white wing tipped shoes that curled up at the tips like cowboy boots. He was wearing a holster that looked like it contained a series of bombs.

“It has a name,” Reno said, sizing him up.

“Oh, I know your name, chump,” he said. “What’s with that shit on your face?” he asked, indicating the tattoos framing Reno’s eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand, because they’re the ancient face markings of a warrior. And also it, like, highlights my best features,” Reno said cockily.

“Mmhm. ‘Cuz you’re so badass. Warrior. Fuckin’ stupid twink, more like.”

“That’s Legend. He fought during the war with Wutai. He’s called ‘The Death God of the Battlefield’. Better hope you don’t face off with him during the application portion,” Rude said, deadpan.

“I’m Cissnei,” a curly-haired redheaded girl piped up, smiling. She was young. At least, younger than Reno. He had to admit, she was very cute. “They used to just call me Shuriken when I was younger, but I made everyone call me Cissnei.”

“Is that your real name?” Reno asked.

“To you, it is,” she said, winking.

“Then my face tattoos are warrior markings,” Reno told Legend with a bitter tone.

“Nunchaku,” an effeminate-looking short blond said, introducing himself. His blond hair was perfectly arranged, and his suit was very conservative, but he had nunchucks wrapped around his neck almost casually. He took a curtsy, which was weird, but then these Turk people were all very weird. “Nice to meet you, sir! If you need anything, anything at all, let me know.”

“Why ya kissin’ his ass, Nunz? He’s gonna die,” Legend groused.

“I’m nice!” Nunchaku quipped.

“It’s only ‘cuz you’re a fuckin’ rich boy who wants to please everyone ‘cuz rich daddy didn’t love ya,” Legend said, ashing his cigarette again. Reno could tell from the smell that they were cloves. If they were real cigarettes he’d ask to bum one.

“So, you’re an asshole and a bully,” Reno said to Legend.

Everyone gasped.

“You are absolutely gonna die now, ya fuckin’ twink bastard,” Legend said, finishing his clove, throwing it to the ground to stomp out the cherry.

“Legend is an acquired taste,” Rude said.

“Hey, fuck you. I got more taste in my little pinky finger than your full body, Rude,” Legend said, but he was laughing.

“Mm. That’s why you wear white shoes with a black suit,” Rude said, adjusting his sunglasses with one finger pointedly.

Legend pulled his sunglasses down slightly to stare at Rude.

“You’re lucky I like you, Rude,” Legend said, pushing his sunglasses back up, taking his pack of cloves out and shaking another out, sticking one in his mouth, flipping out a zippo that had a ShinRa logo on it and lighting it, then concealed it again after.

“So. We almost never see Katana, but he’s one of our field agents who does remote work and he’s here today. Said he was in town,” Legend said, sweeping his hand toward a man who was wearing a scabbard at his hip concealing a katana. He had almost straight medium-length black hair that flared out at the ends, a long scar which covered most of his face, and startlingly blue eyes behind wire-framed glasses. Whereas Reno’s eyes were a pale blue turquoise sometimes mistaken for colors around him because they were so reflective like pools, this man’s eyes were an almost ocean blue, like roiling waves. He didn’t say anything, just nodded.

“His real name is Balto, but no one calls him that. His katana is called Murasame and he’s lethal with it,” Rude explained. “Like Legend, he’s one of the old crew. Veteran. They served under the previous Director, Veld.”

“Who’s Veld?” Reno asked.

Everyone just looked at each other like it was taboo to bring that up.

“‘Kay. Touchy subject I guess?” Reno said.

“That’s Rod,” Rude continued on as if nothing happened. “He was in a Motorcycle gang before we picked him up. You actually kind of remind me of him. Hm. Must be a gang thing. Anyway, he can fix anything with circuitry, not just motorcycles and cars, which has been invaluable. He’s had a few names, but he sticks to Rod now.”

Rod nodded at Reno, tapping a cylindrical metal rod that was short against his shoulder. Some kind of telescoping night stick?

“Hey. Heard you were some hot shot gang member. Respect.” He stood with a lazy sort of confidence. His hair was short, unruly, and auburn. Despite his attitude, he wore a conservative suit too.

He was introduced to the rest then. Including Rude and himself, there were twelve Turks here in total.

“So that’s it?” Reno asked, indicating the crew.

“Though we be few, we are mighty,” Nunchaku said, hand on his chest. “Close-knit too. You have to be, in our profession.”

“Maybe Tseng will recruit more women,” Cissnei said hopefully.

“The fuck we gonna put someone else in that office?” Legend asked.

“Could create a second office, for, you know, the undesirables,” Cissnei said brightly.

“So, if tattoo-face fuckboy here with…whatever the fuck hairstyle that is…is that a rat tail? If he makes the assessments, he goes in the basement, with all the old records. My personal vote,” Legend said.

“Hey man, I got your six,” Rod winked, tapping his weapon on his shoulder again. “Legend is a fuckin’ bully just cuz he thinks he’s still hot shit from the old days.”

“I am hot shit and you fucking know it,” Legend said, turning to stare with acidity at Rod, which was absolutely not seen through the sunglasses but must have been felt. “And if you weren’t so fuckin’ useful…” He trailed off, but the meaning was implicit.

Reno was walking over to the selection of weapons. He picked up a glock, smirking as he leaned in a casual lazy sort of style as he turned it sideways, held in one hand.

Practically all the Turks exclaimed.

“Relax, relax, I know what I’m doing. Sideways for attention, longways for results.”

“Uh, isn’t that the saying about cutting your wrists?” Cissnei blinked.

“You got it, sweetheart,” Reno grinned.

“Do men ever listen? I’ll smash your balls if you call me that again,” she said sweetly.

“I like feisty women,” Reno laughed.

“I’ll kill you.”

“I’m gonna get killed a lot, so that’s cool. Maybe I’ll find out I’m a cat. Nine lives. Meow.”

He then held the gun in a practiced grip, straightening up, and shot six rounds into the ballistics dummy, his arms moving only to direct his aim at the brain, the carotid, the heart, the stomach, the lungs, and the windpipe. He did it with a speed and accuracy that had everyone looking at each other. They had only seen that kind of accuracy and speed with a firearm from one other person, but no one was going to say it.

Rude walked over as Reno reloaded the bullets and put the glock back in its holster.

“That your main weapon?” Rude asked.

“Nope. I liked using twin flails slotted with Lightning Materia. Got any of those?”

“So…let me get this straight. You can shoot like that, and you don’t main guns?”

“Nope. Boring. Necessary sometimes, but boring.”

“All right,” Rude said, taking a deep breath. “I know what you’d like, I think, Sparky.” He went down the line of weapons and extracted the same weapon that Rod had, opened a box that had a literal treasure trove of Materia and plucked out a Lightning Materia. He tossed it in the air once, twice, then slotted it in, then, as if contemplating not doing it at all, picked up a Cure Materia and slotted that in too, moving it in Reno’s direction and flicking his wrist to lengthen it, flicked his wrist back to shorten it, demonstrating, then turned it around, and handed it over, plucking a shoulder holster out for him as well. “Electro-mag rod. EMR for short. Lethal. Simple. Elegant. Much better than a flail. This Lightning Materia is Mastered, by the way. So is the Cure.”

Reno took it and examined it.

“Aw, it’s almost like you care. It’s like…a big taser?”

“Does way more damage. You’ll be entertained.”

“Favorite weapon, by far,” Rod piped up.

“All right,” Reno grinned, shrugging on the holster and slotting the Electro-mag rod weapon in so it sat securely and wouldn’t fall out.

It was toward the end of the assessments when a helicopter started touching down. A ladder was thrown down. Reno looked up and saw Tseng appear on it, hair streaming around him like a beautiful Wutain prince, holding on with just one hand, one leg crooked up high. Fucking…dramatic beautiful bastard, Reno thought. As he got close to the ground, Tseng hopped down. There were a pair of ShinRa soldiers in the helicopter, and it was a different color, which made sense now. The soldiers unbuckled themselves and climbed out of the chopper, grabbing their guns and going to stand at opposite ends of the shed.

“Uh, so, Rude, what’s in the shed?” Reno asked.

“Oh, that’s the ‘remediation’ I was talking about.”

“’Kay. Got that then. Does Tseng always come to assessments?” Reno asked.

“Yup.”

Tseng was walking straight toward Reno. All the Turks made faces and neck chopping motions, which Reno saw and didn’t appreciate, then he looked back at Tseng as he approached.

“Reno,” Tseng began, his voice very calm but heavily laced with acerbity, “what am I looking at?” He reached out with a gloved hand and tugged at the collar of the white shirt beneath the black suit jacket that was practically not a shirt, which moved the suit aside even more to show one pale nipple.

“It’s my suit,” Reno said brightly. “Like it?”

“What part of the assessment is he on and what were the marks?” Tseng asked, looking away from Reno to Rude without letting go of the shirt.

Rude responded immediately like he’d just been asked a question by a drill sergeant.

“Speed: Obliterated every previous record. Accuracy: Excellent. Almost obliterated the top score. Magic proficiency: Above average, highly proficient with Lightning Materia, less so with anything else, but still above average. Problem solving: Toward top scores. Sir. He’s aced everything. He just has the practical left. Who would you like to pair him with?”

“I will do it,” Tseng said, already moving toward the gate to the makeshift arena.

“Nice knowin’ ya. Actually, no. No it wasn’t. Hope he kills you real slow-like, warrior,” Legend said, taking a long puff of his clove.

Rude shook his head. “I did warn you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Reno said,” entering the arena after Tseng, withdrawing the electro-mag rod and tapping it against his shoulder, walking slowly and calmly, almost lazily, toward Tseng who was standing in a neutral position.

“Stop right there,” Tseng said when Reno got within 30 feet of him. “That’s the starting distance. You get 10 minutes. Disarm me, you’re in. If you get close, I will consider it.” Reno shrugged, but stopped, spreading his feet wide in the dirt, taking the electro-mag rod off his shoulder and flicking his wrist to lengthen it. Both actions sounded loud with all the silence around them. All the Turks were very quiet, but he didn’t look back to see their expressions. Tseng didn’t go into a stance. He only slid his feet hip width apart. His ‘default’ position, he had called it.

“Count us off,” Tseng said to Rude.

“3,” Rude started, priming his phone for a timer.

Reno narrowed his eyes at Tseng, singularly focused on those almond-colored eyes that seemed so guarded.

“2.”

Tseng looked back unwaveringly, tilting his chin up slightly, then adjusted his gloves and tie.

“1.”

Reno hunched forward, primed to attack.

“Go!” Rude yelled, starting the timer on his phone.

Tseng stood stalk still, but Reno rushed forward. Tseng twirled out of the way as he came within striking distance but Reno laughed because Tseng’s hair swung wide around him and he grabbed onto a significant portion, yanking his head back. Tseng’s hand came up fast as lightning and broke Reno’s wrist, which made him let go instantly and yell. At the same time, Tseng threw his hands out to stabilize himself and turned his body slightly to shift his hips, roundhouse kicking Reno with a twist, shoe hooking into his neck and pulling him down. He also pulled the wide lapels of Reno’s shirt and suit jacket as he went down, then gathered him close, grabbed the side of his suit jacket, and tossed him with a hard thrust of his hips straight up over his body holding him close against him the whole time before he let go, slamming him hard into the ground, knocking the wind out of Reno.

Reno held his wrist close to his chest, angry. He didn’t even have the chance to use the rod.

“You think that’s gonna stop me, don’t you?!” he yelled, flicking the rod closed with his uninjured non-dominant hand and putting it away for now, and then he moved lightning quick around Tseng so he didn’t know where he was coming from, grabbed his sleeves with both hands, the adrenaline pumping so hard he barely felt the pain in his wrist, and tossed Tseng up into the air. He rolled down onto the ground into a turtle position, legs poised, and bicycle kicked Tseng so hard over his head that the man went flying hard over him, a good 100 feet away, then he ran, a hard sprint, tossed the electro-mag rod into his hand from the position it had been tucked into from the inside of the holster, flicked it out, and used it against Tseng before he could even regain footing. A long stripe of Lightning circled the whole area, lighting it up so it was blinding.

Tseng got up, but he was bloody and his hair was in disarray. He withdrew his gun and as Reno backed up, he unloaded several bullets at him, making sure to shoot at areas that were non-vital. Reno dodged several, moving as quick as the lighting he’d just unleashed, but one of the bullets hit his leg and although the Kevlar helped brace most of the impact, the bullet still lodged into his leg and it hurt like hell so he cried out. Tseng snapped the gun in half to expose the Materia slotted inside and cured both of them, then snapped it back together. Suddenly the pain in both injuries lifted. It felt weird at first. The bones mending in his wrist hurt and tingled until it didn’t anymore, and the bullet popped out of his leg and the hole healed up.

“5 minutes left!” Rude called out.

Both men were panting. Tseng smiled. A genuine smile, as though he was impressed, then ran forward, grabbed Reno’s long ponytail in his fist, wrapped it around his hand, jerked his head back hard, pulled him down so he fell and then Tseng let go, went down with him, legs threading around Reno’s neck so his thighs were around it and began choking off his circulation. Reno flailed and hit Tseng’s back, then as he was about to use the electro-mag rod, Tseng chopped it out of Reno’s hand so it went flying out of his reach.

Reno pulled his neck up and back to get his circulation back and wedged his hands between Tseng’s thighs, grabbing his legs and getting up and backing away quickly, but Tseng was on him again, so Reno spun around, grabbed both of Tseng’s arms, and kicked him in the back so hard he dislocated both his arms.

Tseng didn’t make any noise whatsoever, he just turned around and pushed each arm back into their socket as if he’d done it thousands of times. Not even a grimace crossed his face.

“Damn, you’re a fucking psychopath,” Reno laughed. “I kinda love it.”

“Now you’re starting to understand,” Tseng said, getting into a crouched stance, fists poised for attack, but open, facing up, as if invoking a spell. His legs were spread wide apart, one leg in front of the other, knees slightly bent inward to maintain balance. Reno tried to dart for the electro-mag rod, but Tseng was too fast, and because he was already in a crouched position he did a spinning heel kick that led into a strong elbow to Reno’s gut and an uppercut. All three together threw Reno up into the air, tossed him a good 100 feet away easily, and blood sprayed out of his nose and mouth like a geyser. Tseng was on him again in an instant, diving to the ground, legs wrapping around Reno’s windpipe and pulled his arm back at the same time into his chest, pulling hard, snapping it out of its socket. Reno cried out, but before he could even try to get away, Tseng swung into another choke hold, this time wrapping his legs around Reno’s midsection and wrapping one elbow around the other around Reno’s neck and tightened the hold progressively to choke off Reno’s air.

“Time!” Rude yelled. Tseng let Reno go, jumped up onto his feet, pulled Reno up, and jerked his arm back into its socket.

“Fuck!” Reno yelled. “Warn a fucking guy ya fuckin’ fuck!”

“You’re welcome. And you’re in.”

“I’m…but you beat the fuck out of me?”

“You’ll do. You were competent. Your basic knowledge of fighting is strong for someone with no direct knowledge of a true fighting style. You learned what worked in the slums, and I bet it worked very well on most people. I am not most people.”

“No fucking shit,” Reno said, rubbing at his shoulder and trying to regain an even breathing pattern.

“Boss has a black belt in several martial arts, ya fuck!” Legend called out.

“Gods I hate that guy,” Reno groused.

“Would you like a heal?” Tseng asked, tilting his head. Reno was covered in blood.

“…Yeah, okay,” Reno said begrudgingly, kicking the dirt. Tseng unholstered his gun, snapped it apart, and cast a Curaga spell on both of them, then snapped it back together, putting it back in its holster.

Reno smirked.

“What?” Tseng asked.

“Messed your hair up pretty good. Looks fucked. Hey! So! Good fight?” Reno stuck his hand out for a handshake. Tseng looked at his hand, then back up at Reno as if the gesture offended him, but then he nodded at Reno as if to say “good work”. He started off toward the gate to the arena at a quick clip, turned around slowly, told Reno he would see him at the apartment, then opened the gate, nodded at the others, made a quick signal at the ShinRa soldiers, and got in the ShinRa chopper to leave. It flew off minutes later, blowing everyone’s clothes and hair about.

Reno picked the electro-mag rod up off from the dirt, dusted it off, flicked its telescoping portion in, and tapped it on his shoulder, walking with a slow swagger back over to the other Turks.

“Guess you’re all right,” Legend said, conceding. “But you do realize boss was going real easy on you?”

“I’m in. That’s all I care about,” Reno shrugged.

“Welcome to the fold!” Nunchaku said brightly. “That was quite a fight! It was fun to watch! You have style!”

“Shut up, Nunz,” Legend said to Nunchaku. Then he turned to Reno. “He’s a cock sucker. Everything he says is suspect.”

“Was that really necessary?” Cissnei groused.

“I mean, I call it like it is, hon,” Legend shrugged.

“Call me sweetie, hon, sweetheart or any of that kind of sexist stuff one more time,” Cissnei threatened, brandishing one of her shurikens.

Legend rolled his eyes. “Anyway, time to fuck off,” he said. “I got a huge truck to drive these fucks back. See ya, twinky man tits warrior rat tail!” The assembled Turks all nodded at Reno and Rude and walked off toward an all black four-wheeler truck emblazoned with the ShinRa logo on the side, a long red stripe as its backdrop. As it took off Rude turned to Reno.

“You look like shit, but I’m glad you’re not dead. I kinda like you. I had a feeling you’d be all right.”

“Your attitude said otherwise,” Reno laughed.

“It’s just gallows humor. This job—it makes you like that. You see a lot of death.”

“I feel ya, bro. Celebratory drinks?”

“Oh no, I’m done spending Gil on you. You need to start earning a paycheck first, then you’re taking me out. I deserve to be treated like a lady.”

“A lady that can drink a fucking pond’s worth of whiskey?” Reno asked.

“Yes,” Rude said, no inflection in his voice.

“I got your six, Big Guy. Don’t worry. I’ll even ask ya’ta dance.”

“No,” Rude said. “That analogy went way too far.”

“You’re like 6’3”? It’d be funny.”

“6’4”.”

“Fuck you, you heighted bastard.”

“I am vertically gifted,” Rude corrected. “Let’s get back to Midgar. Seemed like boss was gonna be back earlier than usual, anyway. Maybe he’s gotta talk to you?”

“‘Kay,” Reno said, walking back over to the helicopter with Rude and climbing in. He clipped himself in this time.

“You pick things up quick,” Rude said, sounding almost impressed.

“I’m no dummy,” Reno shrugged. “Street educated, sure, but I learned how to read and write and everything. I mean, I don’t do either that well, but I know how to do it.”

Rude strapped himself in, then they took off.

“I’m sure boss will be tickled pink to hear your reports will look like absolute Chocobo shit.”

“Whatever. Just fly, ya oaf.”

“That’s a big word for a slum boy,” Rude teased.

They continued to talk throughout the whole flight, laughing and trading jokes and jabs.

Finally they landed, got on the elevator and returned to Tseng’s apartment.

“I’ll swing by later with the rest of your suits.”

“‘Kay. See ya in a bit then?”

“Yup. See ya.” He gave him a small smile, pushed his glasses up with one finger, and turned to go off to the elevator.


	4. FOUR

Reno took off his shoes by the door. They were filthy with all that brown dirt. He’d have to clean them later. Even his socks were filthy so he took them off so as not to track dirt in Tseng’s pristine OCD apartment. He didn’t expect the man to be home, but he heard a voice coming from his bedroom.

“Reno, come here,” he called. Reno blinked.

“Gonna shower,” he called back, as if it was clear that was the most obvious priority.

“I said, come here.”

Reno rolled his eyes but walked carefully toward Tseng’s bedroom, stuffing his socks in his pocket.

“Uh, am I opening the door?” Reno asked. He just wanted to make sure.

“Yes, Reno,” Tseng said, sounding exasperated.

Reno opened the door. He was totally unprepared for the sight before him. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was not this. Tseng was laying propped up on several pillows, freshly showered. He could tell because his hair was wet and spread around him like jet black tendrils. He was wearing a white silk robe, which made a lovely contrast with his hair, hands above his head and resting on the pillows, wrists limp, looking almost vulnerable. The robe was parted open down most of his chest, which was trim but had some hard lines. He wasn’t exactly muscled but there was a sturdiness to him. Reno wasn’t surprised. Tseng was a somewhat thin elegant man. That didn’t mean he couldn’t kick your ass. The sash was tied so Reno couldn’t see anything, but the end of the robe was parted and Tseng’s legs were situated in a way where the robe slipped to show most of one thigh, but it wasn’t obscene and he couldn’t actually see anything. He realized in that moment how long and lean Tseng’s legs were.

“Shower. Come back wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else,” Tseng commanded.

“I don’t understand,” Reno said.

“What don’t you understand? I gave you orders, no?”

Reno swallowed thickly. He could feel himself harden despite himself.

“I thought you hated me,” Reno said.

Tseng smirked. “You were the one who hated me. But you didn’t hate me, did you? I saw the look in your eyes. I know what you want. Besides, the way you’re looking at me now is very telling. Your pupils are dilated, your heart rate is elevated. You like what you’re seeing. Now. Go do what I told you to do.”

Reno swallowed again.

“But…”

“Do it.”

“‘Kay,” Reno said, stepped behind the door, closed it, and went to strip quickly, putting the entire filthy suit in the hamper.

The water was brown for a while as he washed himself, and he scrubbed himself until he was almost pink, trying to get all the dirt off. He could see Tseng’s products lined up. He’d showered here before but he’d never examined what was on the shelves. He thought there was just shampoo and conditioner, but there were also apparently things to promote “smoothness” and “luminosity” as well. He thought shampoo and conditioner took care of that? It seemed like expensive shit and there was also a series of body washes, which made one of his eyebrows raise. Why did one man need…5 body washes? Each one was a different scent upon inspection, with different claims as to skin clarity and moisture, and one was a body scrub, but shit.

How hadn’t he realized this shit before? Exhaustion probably. Coming out of a four week torture process which that same man in that same room inflicted upon him? Yeah, that was it. He grabbed the shampoo bottle, squeezed some out, then returned the bottle to the shelf. When he was done shampooing and conditioning his hair he contemplated taking care of himself in the shower in case Tseng was a cock-teasing asshole, but he decided against it, just to see what would happen. When he was done showering he grabbed a fresh fluffy towel and ruffled it through his hair, drying the rest of his body. It was a luxury not to have to hose off buck naked in the streets in order to get clean with brackish water that probably came from the sewer itself, having to keep your foot on a pump the entire time, using cheap bar soap for both hair and body, with people just looking. This was real luxury. 5 body washes. Unreal. It was like some day spa shit.

He slung the towel low around his waist and heard a knock at the front door. It was Rude with the rest of his suits. He thanked him, waved, cut him off, and went back inside. A very hot, very almost naked, very beautiful man was waiting for him on a bed down the hall. Rude could fuck right off right now, much as he liked him. He placed the suits in the closet, then pulled on a pair of the dark gray boxer briefs in the drawer. He put his hair tie back around the hair at the base of his skull and then padded down the hall.

“Uh. I’m done,” Reno said outside Tseng’s door.

“Come in,” Tseng said breathily. Why did he sound like that? Reno’s half hard cock was suddenly incredibly rigid at the sound of it. He opened the door, and again, he was completely surprised by what he saw. The robe had slipped to expose one shoulder now and Tseng’s legs were drawn up, the robe open to reveal himself but still tied at the waist. He was stroking his cock slow and almost lazily, and his eyes were hazy and heavy lidded, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His mouth was slightly open, and his chest was rising and falling slightly faster than usual. Even Tseng’s cock was beautiful. Tseng was just a beautiful man. Deadly, lethal, commanding of respect, but beautiful. Reno had always gotten off on men who could kill him—men who provided a challenge. He didn’t know why he didn’t see it until now. Clearly Tseng got off on that too. They were worthy adversaries. Tseng was better, but he knew that with training Reno would only get better over time—stronger, more capable.

“You’re rather hard,” Tseng panted, stroking faster, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. “Do you want me?”

“I mean…yes? You’re…I thought you were beautiful the second I saw you. I also thought you were going to kill me. Then I thought you were disgusted by me. Then I thought you had no respect for me.”

“Mm, you’re wrong,” Tseng said, moaning softly. “Mm, ok, maybe the sight of your face makes me want to punch you, but I also want to fuck you.”

“Oh, I’m not fucking you?” Reno asked, laughing. “You know that’s not happening, right?”

“Mm. I think it won’t be hard to persuade you. I don’t let anyone fuck me. Strip your boxers off.” Reno didn’t, defiant. He was even skinnier than Tseng, with a lithe and and lanky build. Even though he was technically too short to be described as “lanky”, he was for his body type. Long torso, long arms, long legs. Elegant neck. Just shorter than he would have liked. Height commanded respect, and that’s just the way it was and was always going to be. He had to compensate his whole life to make any sort of dent in anything. His respect was hard-won. Tseng wasn’t much taller than him, but it was noticeable. He guesstimated about 6 feet tall. Maybe an inch shorter? Maybe 2? Okay, maybe not 2. But he commanded respect. Maybe his attitude itself would have commanded it regardless. He was tall for a man of Wutain descent, in any case. And, since Tseng was his boss now, this was definitely a power move as well as a mutual attraction.

He couldn’t say no, but in any case, he didn’t want to.

“Let me see you,” Tseng said, dropping his hand away and replacing the silk robe over himself, letting his legs down and fixing the way it sat on his shoulder.

“You gonna take that off?” Reno asked, indicating the robe.

“Maybe,” Tseng smirked, toying with the sash playfully. “Depends. But so far I like what I see. Quid pro quo?”

“The fuck does that mean?” Reno asked, brows furrowing.

“It means…you give me something I want, and I give you something you want.”

“Coulda just fuckin’ said that,” Reno groused. “Instead you had to get all fancy. Like your fuckin’ 5 body washes.”

“Quid pro quo,” Tseng repeated to get Reno back on track. He also slowly slid the ends of the robe up his legs.

“Fuck. Fine.” He pulled the boxers down and off, his cock bouncing back up against his lower abdomen from the movement of the fabric. He held his arms out. “That good? We gonna fuck?”

“You’re very crass,” Tseng said, wagging a finger, but, as promised he slowly undid the sash to the robe and stripped it off, tossing it aside.

“Shiva’s fucking tits and Ifrit’s Gods damned balls, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Reno said looking him up and down, then into his eyes.

Tseng signaled for him to come to the bed. He’d seen him do the same signal in the field, when he busted him, and then to the ShinRa soldiers in…wherever they were for the assessments. For some reason it made his cock throb. Okay, there was a definite reason it did, but he wasn’t really willing to analyze it right now. Even though this was exactly like their fight, and he had a feeling he was just going to let himself lose this time.

Reno walked over to the bed, smiling, slowly, then climbed up onto it, straddled over Tseng. He lowered his face just enough so their lips were close enough to touch. He looked into Tseng’s eyes and Tseng looked into his.

“Are you going to kiss me, or stare into my eyes all night?” Tseng scoffed.

“You could kiss me, you know,” Reno said.

“Mm. No. You will kiss me.”

“You’re a Gods damn bastard, you know that? Why are you so hot? I’d probably have killed you by now if you weren’t the most gorgeous man alive.”

“Don’t let the compliments get to my head,” Tseng almost purred. “This is a fight, same as your assessment practical, and exactly as it was orchestrated by my every move, it will be the same here. Your reactions matter, of course. You do a good job, you get to have access again.”

“Access? Like you’re a Gods damn building?”

“Impress me,” Tseng said. “Now kiss me with your filthy little street rat mouth,” Tseng breathed.

“I bet you fuckin’ came from the slums too, jackass!” Reno yelled, having a visceral reaction to that.

“I’m not in the slums anymore,” Tseng smiled. “I haven’t been for some time. But you? The way you fight, the way you talk, your bravado—you’re still in the slums. Some of us leave. Some of us don’t. I have a feeling I know which side you’ll be on.”

“Fuck you, thinking you fucking know me. You don’t!”

“People think I lack many things. Empathy, compassion, intuition, the full range of full human emotion, but I do not lack these things. I am just in tight control of them. We each have tools, do we not? Strengths, weaknesses? A good leader never shows his hand. But, if I didn’t intuit that you would be a good Turk, I would have cut off your pretty red head, or just let them throw you away until they saw fit to kill you. I wouldn’t have bothered with getting you clean. I wouldn’t have bothered with setting you up here. You should be grateful, not acting like some impudent child.”

“Man, I don’t know why I hate you so much but want to fuck you at the same time,” Reno growled.

“The fact that you’re even examining your feelings at all is charming,” Tseng said.

Finally Reno got so pissed off he kissed Tseng hard, hand threading into his thick black hair, and pulling so that his head went back forcefully, the kiss trailing down from his mouth to his neck. Tseng easily flipped Reno onto his back so fast Reno barely had time to register it, then he kissed Reno deep and slow, taking his time, fingers playing over the lines of his chest and creeping down slowly. Reno moved up onto his elbows to kiss back, but Tseng pushed him back down, brown eyes twinkling even as he slid his tongue along the seam of his mouth. Reno granted him access and they kissed heatedly, tongues fighting for dominance.

Tseng’s slowly questing fingers slid over Reno’s stomach, which dipped in a bit because he was still, despite the weight gain, very lithe, and Reno gasped into the kiss, which made Tseng smile against his lips and slide down farther, running his fingers into the small trail of hair that led to his cock, pulling on it gently. Reno was panting into the kiss now.

“Now, before I touch your cock,” Tseng breathed, parting the kiss, but still close enough to look into Reno’s eyes, “I have a very important question for you.” Before Reno could answer he moved so his mouth was near his ear. “Will you be my instrument? Will you kill for me when I ask you to? Will you follow orders like a good boy? Because I won’t fuck you if the answer is no. And,” he said, raking his nails up his lower stomach up toward his torso which made Reno shudder. “I’ll know if you’re lying just so I’ll fuck you. You may have passed the assessments, but I need your absolute loyalty. Can you give me that?”

“That’s not fair, man,” Reno whined.

“I beg to differ. If you are in my service and I give you a kill order, or any order for any reason, I need to know if you’ll do it, even if you disagree with that order.”

“I’m my own person, you know,” Reno said, frowning.

Tseng laughed. It was a derisive dry laugh.

“Silly boy. Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into? ShinRa Corp. doesn’t care about your fragile little ego, your hopes or your dreams. You are a weapon now, a means to an end. An instrument of destruction. A blood-hound. That’s all you are. You are my weapon, and when I give orders, I expect you to be obedient. And you’ll call me boss,” he said, kissing Reno again, snaking his tongue inside and pulling Reno’s legs open, then he leaned forward toward his bedside drawer, pulled out something Reno couldn’t see because Tseng was still passionately kissing him, and in the next moment his arms were above his head and Tseng parted the kiss to zip-tie his hands together above his head.

“Wait, I can’t even touch you?” Reno glared.

“You don’t have the right, the privilege, or the clearance.”

“So is there a keycard?” Reno said sarcastically.

“Tell me. Will you kill for me?”

“I’m gonna be honest, my cock is so fucking hard right now all I can think is ‘yes, fuck yes.’”

“I can see that,” Tseng said, sliding his body down to breathe hot air against it. It twitched and pulsed. “So eager.” He climbed back up. “Call me boss and I’ll consider giving you some relief.”

“Just fucking touch me,” Reno said, frustrated.

Tseng wagged a finger. “You know what to say.”

“Touch me, boss,” Reno gasped.

“Such fuss over a simple word. But I suppose it is a concession of power, and you used to have a little. Of course, it was on borrowed time. You were always going to be mine.”

“Just touch me!” Reno cried out.

“I like to take my time,” Tseng said, sliding his hand down and slowly wrapping it around the base of Reno’s cock. Just that alone had Reno’s head falling back and his eyes rolling into his head,

“Fuck, c’mon,” Reno begged, thrusting his hips up. Tseng pushed down on his hip pointedly with his free hand and moved his hand up his cock to slip his fingers into the copious precome pouring out of the head of his cock. He rubbed his thumb lazily over the slit at the head then started jerking Reno off with his precome as a lubricant. “Fuck!” Reno sobbed.

“It feels good?” Tseng leaned close, asking in his ear, stroking faster.

“Fuck, yeah, don’t stop,” Reno gasped.

Tseng moved his free hand up from Reno’s hip, pressing his fingers against Reno’s mouth, rubbing against his bottom lip. “Such lovely lips…suck on my fingers and do a good job. I need them nice and slick. Unless you like it dry?”

“You have 5 body washes but no lube?” Reno asked indignantly.

“Oh, I have lube. A few different kinds, actually. Some are quite nice, quite expensive. But you don’t deserve lube yet, my little street rat. I want to see you be obedient for me, and mouthing off is not what I told you to do, so if I were you, I would be very careful. As I’ve told you before, I can be benevolent, or I can be cruel. It depends on which side you invoke. But perhaps you don’t remember. A pity.”

Slowly, and with fire in his pale turquoise eyes, Reno opened up his mouth and as Tseng inserted his fingers, he sucked in earnest, making sure to coat them as well as he could. The fire turned into haziness not long after, as if it was snuffed out and what was left was the smoking embers of an anger that was never real. Tseng smiled down at him as he sucked, slurping and hollowing his cheeks, going up to the knuckle and back down. After about a minute of that Tseng extracted his fingers and squeezed Reno’s cock.

“That was lovely. You can be obedient. And you look so precious while doing it. Seeing the anger drain from your eyes, replaced with lust, that was my favorite part.” Before Reno could even answer Tseng slipped two fingers inside him and hooked them, searching momentarily, then found his prostate and rubbed over it in slow lazy passes as he stroked Reno’s cock faster.

“Fuck!” Reno cried out, his whole body tensing.

“So responsive,” Tseng praised as he rubbed and stroked over the head of Reno’s cock, thumb rubbing the slit as he pushed a third finger inside him, fucking him with all three.

“Put it in,” Reno begged.

“Put.”

Jab.

“What.”

Rub.

“In?”

Jab.

“Fuck! You know what! You fucking son of a whore bastard bitch asshole cock sucking tease! Your cock! Fuck me!”

“Such colorful language. As colorful as your hair, hm? Maybe I should give you what you want? You’re so desperate for it, after all.”

“C’mon! Please!”

“There it is,” Tseng laughed. The laugh was dark, smooth, sexy, like an expensive top shelf alcohol that went down smooth and soothed your aches and brought heat slowly down your throat like a lover’s kiss with it at the same time. He did actually pull out a glass bottle of something that Reno supposed was lube, but he was too far gone in his lust and desperation to care. Tseng slicked his cock up, put the lube away, and leaned down close over Reno, kissing him hard as he thrust inside him to the hilt, not giving him a chance to get used to the feeling of his cock full inside him and stretching him open before he started a rhythm, pushing his thighs up high and using the crooks of his legs as leverage to pound inside him, panting against his mouth.

“Fuck! That feels so fucking good!” Reno sobbed.

“Don’t come yet,” Tseng growled, but he didn’t stop pounding powerfully. The bed was jostling against the wall, but he didn’t care, and neither did Reno.

“I’m so fucking close,” Reno whined.

“You come when I say you can,” Tseng hissed.

“Please…it’s…it’s so fucking good. Let me come! Please!”

Tseng ran his hands up his body, up to his arms, then back down, stroking his weeping cock between their bodies. Reno was trembling hard, back arched up hard.

“Come for me,” Tseng growled, and before he even finished the sentence Reno came so hard he saw white and cried so loud that his voice cracked like a teenager’s. It was so intense. More intense than any sex he’d ever had. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, and when Tseng spilled inside him, it only drew it out more, his whole body trembling and on fire.

When he came down from it, he was boneless. The same butterfly knife he’d grown accustomed to that Tseng used came out. It flicked it open with an easy grace and then the zip-ties came off. But Tseng didn’t put it away this time. He pressed it against Reno’s throat. “This doesn’t leave this room or I will kill you.”

“I can’t fucking think right now,” Reno panted, eyes hazy, pupils blown with pleasure. The knife dug in deeper, a drop of blood sliding down his throat.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fine. I won’t say shit, boss.”

“Good,” Tseng said, flicking his wrist to close the butterfly knife and put it away again. “Now get out.”

“What, no after care?” Reno asked, laughing.

“If you think you’re staying in here, you are sorely mistaken. I’m showering first. You can shower after me.”

“Dude. We just fucked. We can shower together.”

“Did you not hear the implicit no in that? I suppose you might be daft. It’s very possible. Very well. No. Clear enough?”

“What if I ask nicely? You just blew my fucking mind. Best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Glad to be of service,” Tseng said, blinking, then tilted his head, “but the answer is still no. I do, however, think it will happen again. You were passable.”

“I think I was more than passable if you fucked me that hard. You fucking want the shit out of me too, and you know it. You think I’m hot. I think you’re hot. That whole fight? This shit was gonna happen, I think.”

“I think you’re annoying and insufferable, have the vocabulary of a three-year-old, curse every other breath, and I hate you,” Tseng said simply.

“Dude, you don’t hate me. It’s really obvious you don’t hate me. Shower with me.”

“…Fine, but do not ever call me ‘dude’ again.”

“No problemo, chief.”

“Boss.”

“Boss Dude Man.”

Tseng rolled his eyes, climbed off the bed, and stalked toward the shower. Reno followed, grinning.

Three months later, Reno was flying a chopper like a pro and took to wearing his goggles at all times, proud. They also kept his hair out of his face in a badass way. He was doing solo missions, everyone more or less tolerated him in an annoying little brother sort of way, and he proved over and over again that he was capable and even very good at being a Turk.

He moved in with Rude, who had a second bedroom. They became close quite fast, even if they were polar opposites. They worked well together. Almost too well. Reno coined the term “Turk Two Step” when they fought together because they played off each other’s strengths and weaknesses so well. Rude was brute strength and force and Reno was speed and agility. Rude could launch him like a rocket. A deadly rocket.

And as for Tseng?

Some things are best kept secrets.


End file.
